How My Heart Behaves
by mia101
Summary: Brennan thinks she understands what sex is all about...until Booth gives her a glimpse that makes her think otherwise. But who's teaching whom? And what will they learn...?
1. Chapter 1

_**I've never written anything for Bones before, but I've always loved the partnership on the show, so I thought I'd give it a try and see what happens. This probably won't be long – most likely only a few chapters. Please let me know what you think and if you'd like me to continue, or I probably won't take the time if I think no one's interested. Takes place where we all left off – after Santa in the Slush. **_

_**Bones doesn't belong to me, but oh, would it be fun if it did... this story is rated M. please don't read it if you're too young.**_

_**mia**_

**how my heart behaves.**

**Chapter one.**

Snowflakes drift and float behind the windows as Temperance Brennan steps off the airplane at Dulles International Airport. Hefting her laptop back up onto her shoulder, she grabs her carry-on, weaving her way through the large crowd that is gathered by her gate. Still wearing her headphones, the movement of people around her seems more lyrical when set to piano music.

She is excited to see her partner. She has a gift for him, something she knows will make him smile widely, the corners of his eyes crinkling with happiness. She had smiled herself when she realized what it was she wanted to show him. As the escalator delivers her to baggage claim, her eyes scan the crowded room for him, trying to pick out his build.

After several moments, she still hasn't found him, and someone bumps into her rudely from behind, and she realizes she has stopped in her tracks. Frowning, she makes her way across the room slowly, stopping in front of a series of monitors as suitcases begin to thunk onto the belt.

"Bren!"

Turning, she sees Angela hurrying towards her, a brilliant smile stretching across her face. Smiling in return, she shrugs her bags off her shoulders and embraces her friend, holding her tightly.

"You're back!" Angela says happily. "We all missed you… How was it?"

Laughing, Temperance brushes her hair from her forehead. "It was wonderful. I always enjoy visiting Peru, and the remains we were looking at were incredibly well-preserved."

Grinning, Angela grabs her laptop for her, hefting it over her shoulder. "Your suitcase come out yet?"

Spying it on it's way around the corner, Temperance grabs for the large bag. "Right here."

"Great, let's get out of here. I hate airports."

Chatting easily with her friend on the way to the car, she tries to ignore the question eating at her, tries to avoid asking too quickly, seeming too anxious for fear of it being analyzed. When she is finally buckled in, she searches through her purse, attempting to fill her voice with a casual tone. "So, where's Booth? He was supposed to pick me up, not you."

Angela hesitates for a moment, starting the car and adjusting her rearview mirror. "He called me on Tuesday and asked if I could get you instead – something apparently came up."

She considers this for a moment, raising her head from her bag. "Is something wrong?"

Before pulling out of the parking stall, Angela meets her eyes. "I don't know," she says quietly.

Frowning, Temperance drops her bag between her feet on the floor. "What do you mean you don't know?"

Keeping her eyes on the road, Angela pauses. "He sounded strange on the phone. I don't know. But I called him yesterday to see if he knew your flight number and he didn't answer. And he didn't pick up at the bureau either. Same thing when I tried today."

Glancing out the window, Temperance presses her fingertips to the glass, watching the snowflakes swirl past the car. "That's strange – he always answers the phone."

Tugging her own phone from her purse, she quickly dials her partner's cell number and frowns when it goes straight to his voicemail – it's turned off. "Huh," she says quietly.

Angela glances at her quickly. "No answer?"

She shakes her head. "It went straight to voicemail."

"Maybe he's on assignment?"

She shakes her head slowly. "He would have gotten back to you, I know it."

"Well, I'm sure you'll track him down," Angela says soothingly. "Maybe you should go check on him," she says suggestively, wiggling her eyebrows.

Rolling her eyes, Temperance quickly changes the subject, asking about the lab and the others until Angela pulls in front of her building. The last bit of daylight is fading as she tugs her suitcase from the trunk, and thanking her friend for the ride, she heads quickly towards her front door, snowflakes collecting in her hair.

**xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox**

She's in her own car within the hour, having showered quickly and grabbed a fresh change of clothing. Booth still has not answered his phone, and worry is starting to prick at her, effectively covering her irritation. It isn't like him to ignore her calls.

Her gift for him is tucked against the back of the passenger seat, and she again pictures his smile when he'll see it, her own lips tilting up at the corners.

She's missed him. It's the first time she's traveled since their partnership began that he's remained in her thoughts throughout her entire trip. While hiking through the Andes, she could still feel the warmth in his voice that had reverberated through her phone on Christmas Eve as he'd wished her a happy holiday, the lights from the tree he'd set winking in the parking lot a glowing memory. It was the nicest gift she'd ever received. He'd stunned her with his thoughtfulness, and she'd seen that tree numerous times when she closed her eyes over the last few weeks away.

Light glows from his windows on the second floor, and she makes her way up the stairs to his apartment, packed snow kicking loose from the heels of her boots. She knocks quickly, rapping her knuckles against the wood, struggling to keep a hold on the frame she has tucked under her arm.

There's no answer, and she bangs again, this time more loudly. "Booth, it's me! Open up!"

When he still doesn't arrive at the door, she sighs, setting the frame against the wall outside his apartment, digging in her purse for the key she keeps to his apartment in case of emergencies. Maybe he's in the shower.

Slipping the key easily into the lock, she pushes through the door and stops in her tracks as her partner raises his head from where he sits on the couch.

Stunned, she takes in his bleary eyes and rumpled hair. A near-empty bottle of bourbon is in front of him on the coffee table, and he's dressed only in a pair of jeans, the silver of his belt buckle catching light from the lamp next to him.

Blinking, she lets her purse fall from her shoulder, shrugging off her coat and scarf. "Booth?"

He sighs, his hand reaching for the tumbler next to him, rubbing his eyes wearily. "Bones…What are you doing here?"

Frowning, she walks quickly over to the couch. "I was worried about you. You haven't picked up the phone, and Angela says you haven't returned any of her calls, despite her leaving several messages. That isn't like you."

He sighs, leaning back against the couch, his glass resting on his thigh. "Don't worry about it," he mutters.

Dropping down next to him, she snatches the bottle from the table before he can grab for it. "Don't worry? You're sitting here at eight at night by yourself getting drunk, and I'm not supposed to worry?"

He plucks the bottle from her hands, refilling his glass. "I'm an adult. If I want to get drunk in my own home, that's my business. It certainly shouldn't warrant breaking and entering."

"I have a key. That's not considered breaking and entering," she says calmly. "And I'm sorry, but the fact that you haven't been at work in two days, sent Angela to pick me up at the airport and turned off your phone makes it seem more than you just deciding you needed to cut loose."

He lifts his drink, avoiding her eyes. "Leave it alone, Bones."

She covers his glass with her hand before he can take a sip. "What's going on with you?"

"I don't want to talk about it," he says, his voice low. "Understand?"

She shakes her head, and he peels her fingers from his glass, scooting an inch or so away from her. "I mean it, I'm not in the mood."

"Is it something with Parker?" she asks, worriedly. "Or Rebecca? Are you upset with her, is she not letting you see him?"

"Parker's fine," he says flatly.

"Oh."

She's confused, frustrated. It isn't like him not to talk to her, to be so dismissive and cold. His eyes are an angry pink, and his broad shoulders are slumped against the back of the couch. Reclining more deeply, he sets his bare feet up on the coffee table. This wasn't exactly the homecoming she'd been expecting – he's hardly looked at her once.

"Did something happen at work?" she asks quietly.

He snorts, wiping at his nose with the back of his hand, and with the slight tilt of his head, she sees a shimmer catch in his eyes from the lamplight, and she realizes instantly he's been crying.

"Booth…" She reaches out to touch his knee, and he flinches, jerking his legs off the table and away from her. Hurt, she reels back herself, pressing closer to the arm of the couch.

They sit in silence for a moment as she tries to decide what she should do. Clearly, he wants to be alone, but it seems like the worst thing she could do at the moment. She feels unprepared to deal with this type of situation – when someone doesn't want to talk to her, she generally waits until they make it clear that they do.

But that isn't what _he_ would do, if the situation were reversed. If she was alone, and hurting, he wouldn't leave her, she knows this. And so she takes a deep breath, slipping off the couch and crouching down between his knees, trying to search out his eyes.

"Hey," she says softly. "Please talk to me."

He shakes his head slowly, refusing to look at her. "I can't," he says wearily. "You don't understand."

It feels like a slap, those three words. _You don't understand._ It's like a constant reminder that she never quite fits, that she never quite gets it. That somewhere along the line in her development, there had been a disconnect from the rest of the world, one she's never recovered from.

Taking a deep breath, she sets her hand on his knee, and it twitches slightly under her touch. "Why won't I understand?" she says bravely.

Rubbing his eyes again, he shakes his head. "Because…" he murmurs. "You won't… It's not who I'm supposed to be, you don't want to know this about me."

His voice is so quiet she has to strain to hear him. He's so out of character at the moment, she doesn't know which way is up. Swallowing, she reaches for his large hand, tugging it lightly from his face. Finally able to meet his eyes, she sees the weariness there, mixed with something that looks almost like fear.

She says the words he's heard hundreds of times: "I don't know what that means."

Groaning, he leans forward, and she drops back on her heels as he comes closer, swaying slightly. "Bones, just leave it be," he pleads.

She considers this for a moment, wondering if logic will find its way through his alcoholic haze. "If it were me, would you just leave it be?"

He laughs harshly. "You mean if I found you getting drunk alone in your apartment?" He pauses. "I'd probably check to make sure the sky hadn't fallen."

Ignoring his comment, she sighs, trying to sound confident. "I'm not leaving until you talk to me."

He raises an eyebrow and moves as if he's going to stand, but she sets a hand firmly against his chest, feeling the heat from his skin against her palm. Surprised, he lets her push him back with little resistance, flopping back against the cushions.

"You're a pain in the ass."

She blinks, startled. "I don't see what that has to do with anything."

He smiles a wobbly smile. "Of course not."

Sighing, she sits on the edge of the coffee table, facing him. "Please talk to me," she says evenly. "I think we both know that I'm fairly stubborn and when I say I'm not leaving, I'm not leaving. But I have had a long flight, so I'd appreciate it if you told me what's got you so upset sooner rather than later."

He chuckles at her briskness. "Gee, now I'm just itching to spill my guts."

Tired of playing around, she reaches out and winds her fingers around his wrist. "You're in pain; it's obvious, even to me," she says matter-of-factly. "And I'm your partner, and your friend. Telling me would be natural."

He eyes her for a moment, raising his glass to his lips to take a sip while he seems to consider whether or not what she's said holds any validity. "Yeah, fine. Something happened at work."

"Did you have a fight with Cullen?"

Something flickers in his eyes, and he chuckles again, his voice low. "No, no. Cullen's as nice as can be."

Stumped, she becomes impatient, wracking her brain. "Did you –"

"I killed a man," he says sharply, his eyes finally meeting hers. "An innocent man, on accident."

Stunned, she shakes her head, moving to sit next to him again. "I don't understand."

Sighing, he takes another swig of bourbon. "I was with a SWAT team, after a man who'd killed two people and taken a third hostage." He pauses, as if still amazed as she is by the events. "I… He shot at me," he says slowly. "And I shot back."

Confused, she waits for a moment for him to clarify, but he doesn't. "And he was innocent?"

He shakes his head. "No. But…" He looks up at her suddenly, and she sees his eyes well, shimmering with their dampness. "But I missed. I missed and the bullet ricocheted and hit the hostage."

She sucks in a breath, and he turns his head from her instantly, hiding his face and she realizes too late that he think it's in reaction to what he's done. It had been involuntary, the quick breath she'd taken, but she'd needed it to force her heart back to a rhythm – it had stopped beating when she'd seen the hurt in his eyes.

"Booth, it was an accident –"

He whirls around to face her again, his eyes wild. "I was a fucking sniper! I don't_miss_," he spits out. "Understand? That's what I was trained to do: hit the target. And not only did I miss, but I killed an innocent man; a _father_, a _husband._" He chokes out the last two words, dropping his head. "I missed," he repeats, as if speaking only to himself. "I missed."

Her chest hurts, her breathing suddenly feeling restricted. "You don't –"

He cuts her off again, his eyes shining. "I'm not a genius like you, Bones," he snaps. "I don't have multiple PhD's and I'm not an author of best-selling books. I'm just a guy, a guy who has one thing he needs to know how to do, and that's shoot the right fucking target."

She realizes it hurts to hear he thinks so little of himself, that he compares himself to her and thinks himself to be lacking. Or that he thinks all the gifts he has, all the gifts he's given her in the two years they've been partners mean nothing. The ache in her chest is unfamiliar but insistent, growing rapidly. She wants desperately to reassure him.

"Booth," she whispers. "Listen to me."

His eyes stay on the glass in his hands, his fingers slowly tracing the rim, his jaw clenched tightly.

Her hand falls on his thigh again, and she keeps it in place even when he moves to shrug her off. "I don't know exactly how you feel, and I'm not going to pretend to," she continues. "But I've made mistakes before on the job, mistakes that didn't get the case solved in time, mistakes that have cost people their lives, innocent people." She swallows. "And I have to live with that. We've lost people before, even when we try our best not to. It comes with what we do."

"I _shot_ a man," he repeats. "To death."

"No, you didn't," she says quietly. "You missed a target and the bullet hit something else, which indirectly --"

He glares at her suddenly, his face contorted. "Don't try to use fucking semantics on me. It's the same fucking difference."

She sighs. "If it weren't for you, I'd make hundreds of bad calls. I can read data; I can read facts, but not people. _You _can read people, Booth. You know when someone's lying, when someone's hiding something. You've saved countless lives because of that, when I couldn't."

"It doesn't make up for it," he mutters. "So don't waste your breath."

"No, it doesn't, I suppose," she says softly. "But it also doesn't change the fact that what you do is important, and that you're needed. And you can't let this stop you from doing what you do best."

"Kill people?" he asks sharply, sitting forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "It's what I've done most of my adult life. I'm tired of killing people. Someone else can do it, I'm done."

She hears the weariness in his voice, the sadness, and her own eyes tingle with the threat of tears. Reaching out, she presses her hand to his cheek, feeling the warmth from his skin on the palm of her hand as she turns him to face her. The pain is so evident on his face it almost chokes her, and she blinks, silently ordering her body to behave, to remember this is about him.

"You know what you've done?" she whispers. "You've seen the world at it's worst. You've seen it war-torn and damaged. You've seen children killed and abused, bodies disposed without thought or respect -- you've seen every way human beings can hurt one another. And you've gotten up every day and gone out there to try to protect people, to rescue them." Her voice wavers slightly. "Most people would run from that. Weaker people would run."

He closes his eyes, and tears slip down both of his cheeks.

"What happened was an accident," she says slowly but firmly. "And you can't change it, and you can't take it back, but you can't let it keep you from all the people that need you, you understand?" She takes a deep breath. "We need you."

He lets out a shuddering breath, his eyes still remaining tightly closed, refusing to meet hers.

"Seeley," she whispers, stroking her thumb over his jaw. "Look at me."

At the sound of his first name, he raises his eyelids slowly, meeting her eyes as she lets her fingers stroke his face, the stubble along his jaw sharp against the pad of her thumb. "I need you," she confesses. "I can't do this job without you."

He swallows thickly, nodding slowly, and she lets out a breath in relief. Swooping forward, she presses a kiss against his cheek, and his fingers suddenly wrap around her wrist where it sits against his jaw.

Pulling back, she pauses a few inches from his face, meeting his eyes again, and her heart thuds at what she sees.

He tilts his head slightly, his eyes slipping from hers to sweep over her face, lingering on her mouth. Releasing her wrist slowly, his own hand cups the side of her face, and he sweeps a thumb across her lower lip.

She is unable to move, mesmerized, completely under his spell. She can feel the warmth of his breath against her face, can feel what seems like electricity crackling between them.

And his eyes… they're darker all of a sudden, deeper. Seldom does Temperance Brennan find herself in a situation she is unprepared for, but she's lost all sense of reality as he hovers just above her, simply waiting.

Sex is something that's always been simple and easy for her. She knows what she likes, and she sees it unnecessary to hide her expectations from her partners. She sees it as a natural thing, a release of energy; an instinct as basic as eating or sleeping.

But the way he's looking at her, it's as if he's leading her into something she's never even dipped a toe into before. He's barely touched her, and she can feel her whole body responding, can feel her stomach, and it's dropped somewhere below her knees. She flushes from head to toe, her breathing uneven, and she sees the corner of his mouth tilt upwards slightly, knowing. He's leading here, and he knows it.

He tips slightly closer and she shudders, and his eyes glitter dangerously as he realizes just how much power he has at the moment. Dropping his eyes to her mouth again, he finally reaches for her lips with his own, lightly.

It's nothing like the kiss they'd shared in her office, under the mistletoe. Despite the fact that it had been Caroline's suggestion, she'd been curious herself, and had gone along with the blackmail without much protest. Still, in the moment, she'd decided to take control, pressing her lips to his first, grabbing the collar of his jacket. She'd been surprised at how soft his lips had been, how nice it had felt. She'd even been reluctant to pull away.

But only this simple tease of his lips, and she realizes whatever she thinks she knows, it's only the tip of the iceberg when it comes to Seeley Booth. When he pulls back slightly, she trembles, hitching in a breath.

He hears it, and he cups her face more tightly, his mouth descending on hers this time, open and hot. As his tongue sweeps into her mouth she starts to shake, her hands reaching for something to hold onto and only finding the warm, bare skin of his chest and shoulders.

It is the most erotic kiss she's ever received. Heat rises to the surface of her skin, warm and pink, and she feels a tug, strong and clutching in her crotch. She can taste the bourbon in his mouth, can feel the slight sting from the shadow of beard against his jaw. His hand slides through her hair to cup the back of her head, and he pulls her more tightly to him, his tongue like velvet as it slides against hers.

Her fingertips dig into his shoulders, holding on as if she's falling, and he presses forward, leading her back onto the couch, following her down until his body is flush against her. The heat from his skin burns through the thin cotton of her shirt, and his arm slides beneath her, his palm slipping into the small of her back, lifting her, and he suddenly jerks her more tightly against him, causing her to gasp into his mouth.

He steals a breath of his own, pulling back, only to drop his mouth against the column of her throat, trailing damply up to her ear, catching the lobe lightly between his teeth and she instinctively curls her leg closer, pressing against his hip, and there's a rumble, deep in his chest that makes her feel as if her heartbeat is between her legs.

Trailing the top of his tongue over the other edge of her ear, he suddenly drops lower, sucking at the pulse at the base of her throat.

Her fingers tangle into his hair, her arms feeling heavy and weak, and he makes his way swiftly back to her mouth, stealing the breath from her again, his tongue thrusting in and out firmly, still leading her.

There's an electronic chirp suddenly, and he rips his mouth from hers, freezing, as his eyes glance around the room in confusion. She realizes as he does that it's her cell phone in her purse, across the room lying on the floor where she'd dropped it in a heap. Someone's left her a message.

Her chest heaves beneath him, and he slowly pulls off of her, dropping back down on the opposite cushion, closing his eyes. "I'm sorry," he says quietly.

Still shell-shocked, she searches for words, for something to say. "You were upset," she manages. "It's perfectly natural that you would want comfort –"

He stiffens, standing up quickly, turning from her, the strong muscles in his back evident as he moves. "You should go," he says, cutting her off swiftly.

She doesn't understand what's just happened. One minute she was comforting her partner, urging him to forgive himself, and the next, she's pressed against his body, every cell and fiber in her responding. He'd showed her something, just a glimpse, and now all she can think of is his large palm sliding up to cup one of her breasts, of his face buried between her legs.

Confused, she struggles to a sitting position. "Booth –"

He leans down, his fingers grasping the rim of his glass, and he walks away from her, retreating towards his bedroom.

"Booth, wait –"

He pauses, not turning around, the drink in his hand held next to his thigh as if defeated. "Go home, Temperance," he says wearily, and he disappears past the kitchen, leaving her on the couch searching for understanding.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Wow. I just have to say thanks for all the awesome feedback. I was shocked when I checked back and had so many responses in less than twenty-hour hours.. Thank you thank you for the encouragement. As I've said, this is my first time writing this couple, so I'm still getting my feet wet, so to speak. Any feedback helps. **_

_**mia**_

**Chapter two.**

Her cell phone bleats from where it sits on her desk, and she snaps it up quickly, her stomach doing a high-dive when she sees his name on the display. Taking a deep breath, she flips it open, pressing it to her ear.

"Booth, I'm glad you –"

"Bones. Meet me out front in ten minutes."

Frowning, she glances at the clock, seeing it's only ten-thirty. "Out front?" She shifts in her chair. "Are you ready for lunch already?"

"Lunch?" he says dismissively. "No, not lunch. We have a case. Be ready, alright?"

Oh. Sighing, she drops the pen she was holding on her desk. It's been two days since she left his apartment; her first day back at work, and this is the first she's heard from him. Too nervous herself to call, she has been on edge all morning, wondering if and when he would make his appearance. It was Wednesday – they usually had lunch at the diner on Wednesday's.

"Bones!"

Snapping back to reality, she sighs. "What?"

"Eight minutes, alright?"

"Okay, okay," she mutters. "You're not going to come in?"

He's quiet for a moment. "It's faster if you meet me out front. I don't want to have to park."

He's never seemed to mind before. Hanging up, she logs out of her computer quickly, standing up and reaching for her jacket and scarf, shedding her lab coat. She glances at the brown paper wrapped frame next to her desk – she still hasn't given him his gift. From the sound of his voice, though, today isn't the day.

**xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo**

He barely glances at her as she slides into the Tahoe, his eyes masked by a pair of sunglasses. He does hand her a cup of coffee, however, and she accepts it gratefully. While he puts the truck in drive, she allows a quick peek at him as she blows over the rim of the coffee cup, trying to cool it to keep from burning herself.

He's once again clean-shaven, dressed impeccably. She can smell a hint of aftershave, and the soap he uses. For all intensive purposes, he looks as if he's back to normal.

Except he hasn't spoken to her, hasn't given her more than a second's glance.

Sipping her coffee gingerly, she clears her throat. "What's the case?"

He taps his fingers on the steering wheel. "Unidentified remains found in the river, weighted down."

She nods slowly. "Did they say if –'"

"Almost no soft tissue left," he says, anticipating her question. "The guy who found it says it's basically a skeleton."

"Oh," she says quietly. "Okay."

He flips stations on the radio, finally settling on one after nearly a minute. Frustrated, she lets out a dramatic sigh, and he turns to her, finally bothering to look her direction again. "What's wrong?"

She looks at him incredulously. "What's wrong? I haven't talked to you in two days, and now you won't even look at me."

He pauses, glancing at her a minute longer. "I'm looking at you."

Irritated by his flippancy, she snatches his sunglasses off, and he swerves the car slightly in surprise. "Watch it!" he says sharply. "I'm driving."

"Booth, clearly things aren't alright."

"Things are fine," he says, his voice suddenly calmer. "Except that it's sunny out and I would appreciate having my sunglasses back."

In the history of their partnership, there's always been a hint of playfulness in their bickering. Despite feigning irritation on a regular basis, she's enjoyed sparring with him, having small battles and power-struggles.

There is not hint of play or humor in his voice, however. When he turns to her, holding his hand out for his sunglasses matter-of-factly, she notices that his eyes look weary, their rims still red and pained.

"Have you been drinking again?" she asks, surprised. "Are you hungover?"

"What?" he snaps, glancing back at the road, his hand still held out for the glasses. "No. I'm tired. Which makes not having sunglasses on right now rather frustrating."

He swings the car off the road into a small parking lot by a boat landing, and she purses her lips. "Why won't you talk to me?"

He turns off the engine, but his hand falls from the keys, leaving them dangling in the ignition. "Well, so far you've accused me of not looking at you and being drunk, so I'm sorry if I'm not very talkative," he says, his voice low but level.

She sighs. "The last time I saw you –"

"I was drunk," he finishes. "People do it sometimes, Bones. They sit at home and feel sorry for themselves and wallow for a little bit." He clamps his jaw tightly. "It doesn't mean I'm an alcoholic." Unbuckling his seatbelt, he holds out his hand again. "My sunglasses?"

"I want to talk about this," she insists stubbornly, surprising herself. Emotional conversations are not often something she initiates, but she's been miserable that last two days, not knowing if he's okay, if _they're_ okay after what happened. She just wants him to look at her again, really look at her. Or smile, or joke with her.

He sighs, his face softening for a moment. "We have a body to look at. Now isn't the time."

"But there's a time when we can?" she insists.

"Yeah, sure," he says dismissively, tugging the keys from the ignition.

"Booth –"

He reaches for his sunglasses, and she pulls her hand back defiantly. His eyes narrow suddenly, and he snags her wrist, surprising her with his strength. He's not hurting her, his grip is still gentle, but it's firm – and it's clear he's not messing around.

And she's startled by what she sees, because for a flash of a second, it's there again, that tension and that heat that had appeared the other night at his apartment. His eyes are dark and ominous, and her throat suddenly feels dry and she realizes she's nervous. Not because she's scared of him, but because she's intrigued.

Booth's intuition and skills as a cop have always impressed her, whether she voices it or not. Her first impression of him, that he was a simple man with simple answers for problems had quickly crumbled, even during their first case. But what she's seeing suddenly in his eyes, it unnerves her. It hints at something that she's never imagined about him, a secret and maybe something else she's missed, simmering below the surface of his rebellious belt buckles and silly socks.

He relaxes his fingers suddenly, plucking the sunglasses out of her fist with his other hand. "Thank you," he says quietly.

Her tongue sneaks out to wet her lower lip and she sees his eyes flicker, following the movement. Looking at him again, she's about to speak when he suddenly flashes a smile, pulling back from her, patting her knee.

"Everything's fine, Bones," he says, opening his door and dropping to the ground. "I had a bad night, it happens. Just let it go."

She finds she's still trembling slightly. Whatever's going on with him, between them, is more intense than she originally realized. And she feels wholly unprepared to deal with it, doesn't know what it is she can give him without getting lost herself. Because twice now, when she's attempted to reach him, he's knocked her off balance in the process.

She worries if she pushes too hard, she'll be the one that falls.

**xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo**

The body that lies on the table in front of her is in several pieces, and she moves slowly around the skeleton, examining the pieces gingerly as Booth stands a few feet back.

"Any idea?"

"Female, mid-to-late teens," she says slowly. "Caucasian." She lifts the wrist of one arm gently, examining the bone. "Athlete; probably tennis or volleyball."

She sees him stiffen as soon as she mentions the age, knowing younger victims always distress him further. Pulling her lower lip between her teeth, she stands up, snapping off her gloves. "I told Hodgins he could look at the skeleton first, looking for particulates. I'll start tomorrow morning."

"Can Angela do her facial reconstruction so I can search through missing persons?"

She glances at was once the face of a young girl, hesitating. "There's been some damage to the face – I would guess she was hit with a blunt object several times. But I'll have her see what she can come up with."

He nods, flipping open his phone to make a quick call to the bureau, turning his back slightly as she records a few notes and gestures for Jack to come over and collect samples and examine the remains.

Snapping his phone shut, he turns back to her. "Let me know if you find anything else out before you leave tonight."

She nods. "I will." Hesitating, she looks at him for a moment, and he shift his weight from one foot to the other.

"What?"

He doesn't sound irritated, just curious. His mood had changed after they'd left the car. Somber while recovering the body, he'd perked up slightly on the way back to the Jeffersonian, although she couldn't tell if it was genuine or he was doing it to keep her off his back.

"Bones."

She shakes her head slightly, glancing up to see the questioning look in his eyes. "What's up?" he asks lightly.

"You want to have dinner?" she blurts out. "Since we missed lunch?"

He frowns slightly. "I have to go back to the bureau for a couple of hours. I have a lot of paperwork, so I won't be done until late."

Flustered at his apparent rejection, she blushes. "No, no, that's fine."

He pauses. "I mean… I wouldn't be done until at least eight."

Pressing her lips together, she suddenly realizes how badly she wants to see him tonight. He's been on her mind non-stop since they other night, since Christmas, really, and she needs to figure out what it is that's changed, so she can get back to her life. It's driving her nuts.

"I could bring over take-out," she says suddenly, surprising them both.

He seems to consider this for a moment, then nods. "Yeah, okay. I'm going to go for a run first, but I should be home by eight or so."

She nods quickly. "Okay, good. I just… I didn't give you your present yet, that's all."

He tilts his head to the side slightly. "Present?"

"From Peru. I brought you something," she says quickly, flipping her notes closed next to the victim, attempting to sound casual.

He actually smiles again, the second time today. "Is it an artifact? An ancient wooden spoon, perhaps?"

She smiles herself. "No."

He arches a brow. "No? Then what?" He pauses. "A hand-carved belt buckle?"

She laughs, despite the tension between them during the day. "No. You'll just have to wait and see."

He sighs, his hands settling on his hips. "Why a gift?"

She frowns, confused. "Because… because I said I was going to. I actually had something else planned, but then I thought of this while I was away, and so…"

"Said you were going to?"

"Yeah, when you brought the tree," she says quietly.

Hodgins was approaching, and she turned towards her office, feeling him following close behind her. "Remember?"

At her door, he pauses, still a few feet back. "The Christmas tree in the parking lot? That wasn't a gift, Bones."

Surprised, her eyes meet his again. "Yes, it was."

"No, I mean I did get you something else for Christmas, I just –"

"It was the best gift I've ever gotten," she admits, dropping her eyes from his. "I don't need anything else."

He's silent for a moment, and when she finally glances up at him, she's unable to read the expression on his face. Nodding finally, he glances at his watch. "I'll see you later tonight."

She watches his retreating steps, taking a deep breath. Something's changed, something in both of them, and she doesn't understand it. He's different, retreating somewhere, and what's disturbing her the most is… She wants to follow.


	3. Chapter 3

_**So, I'm updating one more time this evening, but I probably won't be back for a couple of days. My friend is flying in tomorrow morning for a visit, and staying until Tuesday morning. She's never been to the bay area, so I'm sure I'll be giving the whirlwind tour.**_

_**I know it seems like I'm leaving it in a tough spot, but it's because the scene that follows is **__**way**** too long to attempt tonight, and I wanted to at least post something. Please don't hate me. **_

_**Thanks again for all the encouragement. You all are so sweet – feedback always inspires more writing – it lets you know someone's out there receiving what you're sending out.**_

_**xoxo mia**_

**Chapter three.**

At ten after eight, she's still sitting in her car, the engine idling in the parking lot of his building. Their dinner is next to her on the seat, as well as his gift – she's starting to feel ridiculous carting it around like she is.

It is snowing again, the flakes disappearing like magic as they hit her still-warm windshield. She's been alternating between watching them sift through the air and glancing at the clock on her dashboard. He's told her anytime after eight.

Her stomach has been slightly queasy since he left her office, and as the time crept closer and closer to eight o'clock, her symptoms had advanced to sweating palms and uneven breathing.

It makes little sense to her, which is why she finds the situation so frustrating. Seeley Booth has been her partner for over two years – why things are now changing, she doesn't know. The two of them have been through a lot together – they've saved one another's lives on more than one occasion, comforted one another during difficult times. He is her partner, the most important kind of partner she's ever had, and she accepts that.

It isn't the kiss under the mistletoe that has changed everything. The kiss had been to satisfy some sort of curiosity on her part. She'd gone along with the attorney's ridiculous request with little protest. She'd informed Booth of the situation, had been firm about the outcome, and had taken control when he'd stood there in front of her, looking flustered and helpless.

And it had been nice. She isn't blind; he's an attractive man. He's strong and tall, with broad shoulders and a striking face. She's considered on more than one occasion over the years what it would be like if he touched her, if he kissed her.

But it was when he'd mentioned making love... He'd leaned across the diner, and for a moment, he'd turned her upside down.

She isn't good with people. She prides herself in her work, in her abilities. And she's straightforward. She enjoys sex, she doesn't feel embarrassment or shame in the act, and she sees no reason to put limits on what people find enjoyable. Fetishes and kink didn't bother her, and, sitting in the diner, she had teased him while he'd blushed in discomfort over the pony play.

She's always considered herself an open, liberal, sexual woman. She's been willing, with former lovers, to try things they've requested and to request things in turn. But when he'd leaned over the table, speaking to her, she'd realized something, and it had made her feel like a child.

What he was describing…she has no idea what that feels like. And it's not just the connection he's so often mentioned. It's the loss of control. It's losing one's self in another. It is entirely foreign to her, and, she had realized, it wasn't to him.

He knows something she doesn't, something big. And she feels shut out because of it.

She wants to understand.

This feeling, this confusion, it's been in the back of her mind since that night. She's shoved it aside while they'd continued to work, and when they'd kissed under the mistletoe, she hadn't seen fireworks or gone weak in the knees. It had felt nice, it had surprised her how much, but the earth hadn't moved. For the rest of that afternoon, she'd been feeling better, feeling that maybe she'd been making too much out of his comments that night.

But then he'd appeared in the parking lot of the jail, that damn tree sparkling as she peered through the window of the trailer, and she'd felt her newly regained equilibrium disappear. She'd heard his voice on the other end of the phone, and it had stayed with her throughout her entire trip.

And now….

Now she is scared, completely out of her element. She's been able to focus on little else besides her partner before returning home, and now her visit to him the other night hasn't helped matters.

It isn't just that he's kissed her, or even how he's kissed her. It is the look that had been in his eyes before he'd done it. Familiar with being the one in control, Temperance is not one to miss power and realize when someone else is the one who has it. Knowledge has always been her power, but of this, she has no knowledge.

That look, the one he'd given her before kissing her and the one he'd given her in the car this morning – she can't forget it. It has conjured up all sorts of powerful sexual images surrounding him, and she finds she's shocked by her response. What had once been only appreciative glances and curiosity about him as a man has, in a matter of weeks, turned into full-fledged fantasy. That, mixed with her concern for him and what he's going through has her in a tailspin.

**xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox**

When he pulls the door open, he's only wearing a towel. He doesn't seem to notice that she's suddenly unable to speak – he grabs the bag of take-out she's holding out and ushers her in the door.

"Hey, sorry, I ran longer than I thought and wanted to shower before you got here."

She shakes her head. "It's fine." Draping her coat over the back of an armchair, she reaches back into the hallway to grab the frame she's now lugged up his stairs twice, handing it to him.

He looks at it in surprise, blinking. "What's this?"

"Your gift."

A smile teases at his lips. "Wow….it's…_big_"

She laughs. "Yeah, well, a small gift for you seemed… inadequate."

Setting it down on the coffee table, he turns towards his bedroom. "I'm just going to throw some clothes on, I'll be right back."

She nods, watching the muscles in his shoulders and back as he moves, the light playing on the bronze tone of his skin.

_Get a grip, Temperance._

She busies herself with grabbing plates from his kitchen, and grabs two bottles of beer from the fridge, spreading it all out in the living room on the coffee table. She pulls food from the bags, busying herself so she has something to focus on besides her partner and what he looks like without a towel.

"Wow, looks great."

Glancing up, she sees he has changed into a pair of low-slung sweatpants and a gray t-shirt that's just fitted enough to highlight the expanse of his chest.

"I got burritos," she says, handing him a plate. "I got you steak with all three salsas and black beans."

He grins, dropping down next to her. "How did you know I was in the mood for mexican?"

She shrugs, dipping a tortilla chip into a container of guacamole. "Gut instinct, I guess."

He arches a brow as he unwraps his burrito. "Gut instinct? You? That doesn't seem like an answer you'd give."

She chews her chip thoughtfully. "The gut is actually thought to be a sort of second brain. It's the enteric nervous system, and sends chemical signals just as your cerebral brain. Both contain serotonin, and…" She trails off when she sees the amused expression on his face. "What?"

He shakes his head. "Nothing. I was wrong. It's a total Bones answer."

She grins, flushing, and gestures towards the wrapped package she's moved to prop against the chair next to him. "Are you going to open it?"

Swallowing his bite, he wipes his hands on a napkin and reaches for the gift. As if confirming her recent statements, her gut seems to roll in anticipation while he rips through the tape, pulling back the brown paper to reveal a large, framed photograph.

"Wow," he says quietly, letting out a low whistle. "That's beautiful. Peru?"

She nods. "I thought you might like to see it."

He smiles, his eyes still on the photograph. "You picked a good one."

The photo is taken near a burial ground she had visited, high in the Andes. The sky on the day it was captured had been sweeping and dramatic, the landscape lush and beautiful.

"I didn't pick it out, exactly."

He's still studying the landscape. "No?"

She sets down her own plate, rubbing her palms on her jeans. "No. This is where I was – it's about a twenty minute hike from an ancient burial ground I was studying."

He turns to her in amazement. "You took this?"

She shakes her head, suddenly embarrassed for some reason. "No. I hired someone to."

His eyes widen. "You hired a photographer to take this picture for me?"

She nods. "I just… I wanted you to see where I was, to understand how beautiful it was. And I…" She trails off, uncertain whether or not she can share these thoughts with him.

"What?" he presses quietly.

"When I was there, I was thinking of you," she admits. "I wondered if you'd like it, if you'd find it as beautiful as I did."

He swallows, looking back at the photograph. "Thank you, Temperance," he says quietly. "It means a lot that you did this."

She lets out a shaky breath, glad her gift is well received. She's been excited to give it to him, but as soon as he'd started to pull back the paper, she'd suddenly been wracked with doubts, uncertain he'd like it.

"I have something for you, actually."

She looks at him in surprise. "I told you, you already gave me a gift."

He shakes his head. "A tree doesn't count."

She sighs. "Of course it does."

Shaking his head, he snags a small box from the table next to him, picking up his burrito again as he hands it to her.

Glancing at the box, she pauses for a moment.

"It's not going to bite you."

She smiles weakly. She doesn't know why she's nervous to receive a gift from him, but she is. She wonders what he's thought to give her.

Slipping the lid off the box, she looks down and blinks, confused. Hooking a finger in the chain, she pulls out a pair of silver dog tags, letting them dangle.

When she looks at him, he's stopped eating, his beer in his hand as he watches her.

"These are yours?" she asks quietly.

He nods. "Yes."

She studies them carefully, unsure what to say, and he clears his throat.

"When I was… when I was overseas, those were the only things I had with me to remind me who I was, that I had a name." He shifts on the couch suddenly, as if he is uncomfortable. "I…they reminded me that I had a place to come home to, that I existed to other people."

She turns to him. "But…why are you giving them to me?"

He drops his eyes from hers; looking at the tags she's holding. "I don't know. I just wanted to, I guess. I wanted to give you a gift that meant something to me. I don't have a lot of material possessions that mean anything – these do."

She's stunned. "But you –"

He reaches out, curling her fingers around the tags. "Bones. I want you to have them, okay? Please take them."

She nods, the silver cool in the heat of her palm. She isn't sure what to think of his gesture; it's confusing. She doesn't understand if by giving her the tags, he's giving up in some way, giving something important about himself away, or if he's sharing something with her that's significant.

He gets up, clearing their plates, and while he's in the kitchen, she slips the chain around her neck, letting the tags slip under her shirt, lying between her breasts. It registers how intimate it is, wearing them when they've hung against his own heart as well, and she tucks that secret safely within herself.

When he returns, he has another beer for each of them, and they sit for awhile, feet up, trading casual conversation. He asks more about her trip, and she tells him details of her travels, describing Machu Picchu. He talks about his Christmas with Parker, and a dinner he'd had with an old friend from the bureau that had been in town.

It isn't until after eleven that she turns to him slowly, studying him openly. "Booth… about the other night –"

He sighs, standing up, rubbing his hand across the front of his chest. "Bones, I told you in the car this morning – drop it."

She shakes her head. "Booth, you were very upset. And I thought… I thought that I was helping, that I was making you feel better. But then you seemed angry."

He lets out a slow breath. "I was drunk, alright? I'm sorry you had to see that," he tells her, his voice coming off fairly neutral.

Frustrated that he's avoiding the subject again, she sits up straighter. "You practically threw me out of your apartment."

He sets his hands on his hips, his eyes narrowing. "I did not _throw_ you out. I asked you to leave." He pauses, looking her directly in the eye. "I needed you to go," he says, his voice low and dark.

There's something about his tone and the look in his eyes that catches her attention. It's there again, the side that's laced with warning, the side that's got her so tangled up in him.

She stands up as well, stepping closer to him. "Why? Because you didn't want me to know that you were hurting, that you were vulnerable? Were you afraid it wasn't manly enough for me to see that you'd been crying?"

She's pushing his buttons and she knows it. She's doing it on purpose. She wants to see what he'll do, wants to know how he'll react to her if they're arguing about something bigger than who gets to drive.

He snaps up his beer, heading into the kitchen, leaving her standing in the middle of the living room. Frustrated, she follows him, walking in the room just as he drops his empty bottle in the recycling with a loud bang, causing her to jump.

"And you're walking away again, too?" she pushes. "That's great. You're the one always asking me to share my feelings, to confide in you. But when I ask you, you throw me out or you walk away?"

"I didn't _throw_ you out," he repeats, his eyes narrowed. "I asked you to leave. And I left the room because you're trying to insist we talk about something I expressly told you I didn't want to discuss!"

"Why?" she demands. "I want to know."

Exasperated, he throws his arms up. "I already talked about it with you, Bones! I told you what happened. I told you how I felt, and you listened. And it's fine now, but you just keep bringin' it up!"

"Things are _not_ fine. If things were fine, you wouldn't have ignored me for days afterwards, or snapped at me in the car today the way you did. You wouldn't have dismissed me a minute ago when I tried to bring up something I was concerned about."

He grits his teeth, stepping closer to her. "It wasn't a big deal. You're making it into something it's not."

She almost laughs. "It was nothing? You… you _kissed_ me. And then you threw me out."

He pauses, his eyes glittering suddenly, and he steps closer to her. Taking a few steps back herself, her hips hit the counter. He's studying her as he walks towards her, not speaking, and she suddenly realizes she's very much under Booth's version of a microscope.

Stepping right in front of her, he pauses before leaning down, an arm braced on the counter on either side of her. "Is that what this is about, Temperance?' he asks quietly. "That I kissed you?"

She flushes from head to toe, her entire body pulsing at his nearness. He tips his head slightly, curiously, meeting her eyes.

"Are you upset that I kissed you? Or are you upset I kissed you and asked you to leave?"

She swallows. She realizes suddenly that when he's like this, she hasn't even a fragment of control in the situation. Because this kind of intensity, this kind of sexual or emotional headiness is entirely new to her. Any other argument or confrontation she's had with him, she can hold her own.

Until now.

Trying to pull her eyes from his mouth, she shakes her head slightly. "No."

He tips his chin towards her, still studying every move she makes. "No, what?"

She doesn't answer, and he considers this for a moment. "You know what I think? I think what you're doing right now is pretty similar to what you did in the car this morning."

She sucks in a breath. "And what's that?"

"You're pushing my buttons." His mouth tilts up at the corners for a moment. "You want to get me riled up, Temperance? See what I say, or what I'll do?"

Feeling completely out of her element, she struggles to find some sort of ground, to sound neutral and in control. "If it gets you to talk to me about what's going on with you, then yes, I –"

"Or are you hoping I'll kiss you again?"

She stops breathing. Her heart is fairly racketing in her chest, and it dawns on her that she _likes_ this, this sensation of falling around him. It makes her feel alive, makes her feel human. She's never allowed a man to make her feel so vulnerable; she's never relinquished control before with only a look or a few words.

Whatever the shift in him is, she's drawn to it. This darker side of Seeley Booth is intoxicating, mesmerizing. And it's just below the surface, and she has no idea how widely it spreads. A few weeks ago, she never would have dreamed that he'd have her pinned up against a counter, putting her on the spot. He's always seemed too gentlemanly for that sort of action.

And yet still, under her anxiety and her excitement, she realizes she trusts him. She trusts him not to hurt her, to not do anything she wouldn't want.

She hasn't answered him, and he's still waiting, his hips nudging her own, his muscular arms caging her as he hovers above her mouth.

"Which is it, Bones?" he whispers, his eyes shining in the low light of the kitchen. "Huh?"

The kind of challenge he's presenting her with would normally trigger a response for her to fire one back. But again, she's left feeling weak and unable to answer him, unable to move. Any other man, she would have either shoved him off of her or grabbed him by the fabric of his shirt and kissed him herself.

She does neither, but it turns out he already knows that answer to his own question.


	4. Chapter 4

_**hello, hello... :) thanks so much for all your patience, you guys (well, some of you... :)) i had a great time with my friend, and i was sad to see her go this morning, but i had to return her to her husband. **_

_**this next chapter will probably make quite a few of you very happy... it's not the end, however. i don't this story will be epic, by any means, but i'll probably have a few more chapters to deal with the issues i've brought up in the first three. hope you enjoy it, and let me know what you think. xoxo mia**_

**Chapter four.**

The only lights in the kitchen casting a glow on them belong to the top of the stove and the cupboard above the sink, and Temperance wonders briefly whether or not he can see her blush. It is probably insignificant at this point – she is physically trembling, her knees wobbly and her breath slightly uneven.

"Which is it Bones?" he whispers, his voice low and husky. "Huh?"

Unaccustomed to feeling so out of control, she rallies bravely, raising her eyes to meet his and nearly loses her breath again. He is heavy-lidded, his lashes casting shadows on his cheeks. She can feel his breath against the side of her face, and his scent is making her feel dizzy. Soap, aftershave and something else; something strictly belonging to Seeley Booth – and it leads her mind immediately to sex and bare skin.

This is her partner. She _knows_ him, she's eaten meals across from the table from him for over two years, has hugged him close, has cried on his shoulder. He's given her more in the last two years than anyone else has since she was a child. She trusts him with her life, she trusts him to take the information she pulls from the dead and to flip the tables on the people who so willingly take a life. And she trusts him with her family, with her secrets.

So why is everything suddenly changing? Why do his arms that trap her against him suddenly seem so fascinating, why is she suddenly trying to remember exactly how he tasted two nights before? The ferocity and the swiftness in this sudden and all-consuming attraction to him has left her reeling. She's wondered in the past, has watched and day-dreamed and considered what he would be like. But any fantasy she may have entertained is nothing compared to the real thing – he has her nonsensical and quivering with only a look.

Unable to decide from a distance how she feels and what she wants, she is shocked to find that all her confidence and strength that she prides herself on has evaporated, leaving her vulnerable and out of control. It is a new feeling, one she doesn't know how to process.

"Cat got your tongue?" he whispers.

She swallows, answering with the slightest shake of head. "I don't… I don't know what that means."

He smiles for a second, just a hint of amusement. His left hand lifts off the countertop and is suddenly against her hip, sliding just under the edge of her cotton shirt and pressing warmly against her side. It is a touch that, under any other circumstance between them, would seem innocent enough. But with the look in his eyes, she already feels as if she is stripped bare and begging.

"I asked," he murmurs, "if you were hoping I would kiss you."

He moves his hand up her side slowly, only a few inches, and she feels her breasts swell inside her bra, feels the cotton between her thighs dampen, and all she can manage is a soft, "Oh."

But Seeley Booth is a master of body language, an expert of things unsaid. And she knows as well as he does that everything but her voice is screaming "yes". He's taunting her a little, teasing, and if she had the ability to deny him, she would, but it's not possible.

Because yes, god, she wants him to kiss her.

Sliding back down her hip, his fingers wrap gently around the edge of her shirt just as he suddenly drops out of her line of vision, sinking to his knees, her shirt shifting across her skin as he peels it back.

And that's when she feels it, his lips on the skin of her belly. Her breath slips from her in a gasp, and she grasps the edge of the counter herself, he knees shaking. His mouth caresses her skin gently, his breath hot against her, his tongue fluttering lightly in her bellybutton for a moment, as brief as a hummingbird's wing.

He seems to know just when her legs might give out, because his arm wraps securely around her waist, supporting her against the tile. Pressing one more kiss against her hip, he rises slowly, pulling her tautly against him, her hips pressed to his, and she can feel him suddenly. She realizes, somewhere in the middle of the haze, that this is more than simply toying with her – he wants her too.

This pulls her back a bit, brings some strength to her limbs, and she finds her own fingers searching out his skin, sliding beneath the edge of his t-shirt, shivering at the heat beneath his clothing. He's so incredibly warm, and she craves it – she wants to feel it all up and down her body.

He looks a little surprised when she clutches the cotton in her fingers, dragging upward, and he lets go of her for a moment, allowing her to pull his shirt from his body, tossing it to the kitchen floor without a second glance.

She immediately presses back, craving contact, wanting his heat, and it seeps through her own thin shirt as she brings them back together.

She begins to tremble again as his hand slips between them, and within seconds and the flick of two fingers, he has her pants unbuttoned and is dragging down the zipper, the only sound to join their heavy breathing in the silent kitchen. His other hand is tugging her own shirt from her body, and she lifts her arms above her head, feeling as if she's being pulled inside out as the fabric inverts and lifts over her face.

He freezes for a moment, his fingers at the edge of her panties, holding a handful of cotton that had been her shirt, and she sees his eyes are on the tags around her neck, the silver settled between her breasts.

He drops the shirt, his hand reaching out for a moment, and he trails a few fingers gently over one of the silver discs. He obviously hadn't expected her to wear them, to put them next to her heart, and for a moment the part of him that had been leading evaporates, and his eyes seem to shimmer.

Her voice, unknowingly, brings him back. At the sound of his name on her lips, his body shifts, his shoulders straighten under her fingers and his hand suddenly slips under the edge of her underwear, his fingers trapped between her skin and her pants and she sucks in a breath as he rotates his touch. And his eyes – his eyes lock with hers, full of challenge and sex.

Overwhelmed by the boldness of his actions, her head drops to his shoulder, her mouth open and gasping against his skin, and one of his arms again wraps around her waist to keep her from falling as his fingers expertly slip over her skin, pulling her towards something strong and crashing.

"Oh!" she exclaims, and she suddenly presses a frantic kiss against the skin of his shoulder as her vision starts to blur. His own breathing seems to quicken at her kiss, and his hand slides from her waist up her back to cup her head and he tips her back, his eyes flashing and catching hers for only a moment before his mouth finally fastens onto her own, as she finally gets her kiss.

The thrust of his tongue combined with the strength and warmth of his fingers between her legs throws her over the edge, and she shudders and cries out against his mouth, one hand fisting in his hair while the other curls around the waistband of his sweatpants as her thighs clench, trapping his fingers against her.

His mouth continues his assault, his tongue sliding along hers, his teeth nipping at her lower lip. She feels like she's sinking, like she's drowning – there's a rush between her ears, and she presses fully into the kiss, holding on tightly so she doesn't fall.

He finally pulls his hand free, snaking it around to grab ahold of the counter and to push her tightly against it once again, and she presses her own hips forward, presses against him. Her head is still spinning, her heart is still racketing in her chest, and she wants this. Nothing has ever left her so dizzy and breathless, nothing has ever felt so human. The mountains she's scaled, the canyons she's crossed and the bodies she's unearthed – it all fades away, it all yields to the man in front of her.

His mouth slips from her lips to trail down her throat, to explore the dip between her breasts. Moaning, she slips a foot between his own, tilting her pelvis slightly, pressing her hip firmly against his erection and he groans. His tongue flicks over her straining nipple through her bra, and she cries out, her fingers tightening in his hair. Slipping his hand into the small of her back, he tips her, arching her back a bit further, and his mouth closes hotly over the tip of her breast, heedless of the fabric; no, using it.

She stutters, consonants bursting from her in a stream of shards, and she's calling his name, unsure of what she's even begging for. For Temperance, this is something she hasn't even had the ability to imagine – no experience she's had prior to this moment has given her any sort of way to prepare for what is happening. She flashes back to the diner, sees him shaking his head as he tells her confidently what it is that makes sex so good and she's suddenly willing to believe anything he would tell her regarding the subject. Because it's not just the way he's touching her, not just the things he's doing with his hands. It's _who _he is; it's what he's been to her in the past and what he's suddenly become in only a matter of minutes.

He has her other nipple in his mouth, teasing and suckling, and she wants suddenly, furiously to give, to give _something._ Her own hand slips between them, sliding down the front of his pants, cupping him in her palm, and he suddenly drops his head slightly, one arm still up and supporting them against the counter and he lets out a low growl, pressing against her, into her hand.

His hands are suddenly back at her hips, shoving her pants down over them, and he drops down, pressing a brief kiss on the newly exposed skin of her inner thigh while his fingers pull down the zippers on first her left and then right boot.

With her pants and shoes off, he stands, his hands sliding around her waist down to cup her ass and she understands immediately and jumps up as he lifts, wrapping her legs around his waist as he moves towards the doorway.

Unable to wait for him to initiate, Temperance kisses him, and his mouth accepts hers willingly as he makes his way down the hall towards his bedroom. When she catches his lower lip between her teeth, he turns suddenly, pressing her into the wall, and she rocks her hips against his and is finally awarded with a gasp from him.

"Oh, god," he groans.

"Booth," she manages to choke out. "Please…"

His eyes lift to hers, darkened with passion and shadowed by his own arousal. "Please what?"

She shakes her head, searching for the words. "Touch me, please…" She struggles, years of independence and fear battling within her for the briefest of moments, but it's too far past that for her to pull away now, and she locks her gaze with his. "Show me," she whispers, her voice trembling. "Please, show me what you meant that night…"

There's no question he knows what she's referring to, and his mouth grabs hers again as he spins and kicks his way into the bedroom, making it to the bed in a manner of seconds.

For a moment she is falling as he drops her to the mattress, and she reaches for him, fearful, not wanting to let go. She's still so undone, still lost, and she reaches for what she knows.

His skin and the feel of his mouth, it's new, but his scent is familiar and comforting. The way he touches her is previously unknown, but his voice, the sound of his breath, it's all the Booth she knows, it's the same, but altered.

He follows her down, tilting his head, kissing her deeply. Arching her back, she rises to meet him, her hands sliding over the skin of his back, winding around to whisper her fingers over his nipples.

She's never felt so scared, yet safe; never so trusting, yet surprised. She thinks as long as he doesn't let her go, she'll be okay. His body is something she wants to wrap herself around, hold tightly.

Her hands slip to his waist, reaching for the waistband of his pants, but he pulls his mouth from hers, kissing further down her body. He slips the strap of her bra from her shoulder, following it damply with his lips, and she shifts beneath him, her body humming.

_This_ _is Booth, _she keeps telling herself. _Your partner -- this is crazy, this is madness._

When he peels back the lace from her breasts, exposing her skin, she flushes from head to toe, and when his lips touch her bare skin, she nearly comes off the bed. This isn't sex, this is something else entirely – something that leaves her head spinning and her heart beating like a drum beneath her ribcage.

Moving even lower, his tongue flickers in the hollow of her hipbone, a kiss is dropped on the inside of her knee. For a moment she feels fear rise up in her chest, wants to stop him. She'll be laid out in front of him; vulnerable, exposed, and she panics briefly, struggling to prop herself up on her elbows. It's too much.

But he loops an arm around her thigh, holding her in place, and he's suddenly exhaling against the crotch of her underwear, as one blows on a pane of glass in the winter. It's almost more erotic than being touched, and she gasps, her head falling back. And then she feels his tongue, warm and wet through the fabric of her panties, and her elbows tremble as she struggles to support herself.

After a few moments he pushes the lace to the side, and she struggles again to clear her head. "Booth…" she says in protest. "I –"

His fingers still looped in the scrap of fabric, he rises up until he's hovering over her face, his lids at half-mast, stroking her lightly as he speaks. "Temperance," he whispers, and at the low tenor of his voice, she shudders. "You asked me to show you."

She holds her breath for a moment, and then nods, her blood racing. He captures her mouth in a deep but brief kiss before sinking back down between her legs, his mouth replacing his fingers and her whole body surges, one hand flying into his hair, the other grasping a fistful of sheet.

Breathless sounds fill the room, sounds she realizes she's making herself. She's teetering on the edge, about to fall when he withdraws, and she feels suddenly like sobbing. She's so close to something, something more than an orgasm, and she struggles desperately to control her breath and heartbeat as his hand suddenly disappears into her hair, wrapping the strands around his fist.

Her own hand slips past him, sliding over his firm stomach and inside his pants, finally feeling the heat of him. He's huge and hot in her hand, impossibly so, and she wraps her fingers around him and he jerks, dropping his head to her shoulder, gasping. When she starts to stroke, he nips her skin with his teeth, groaning, and she arches her body towards him, letting go to push his pants down around his hips.

The feel of him pressed against her sex is dizzying, and she cries out, clinging to him.

She has never wanted this so badly, and when she opens her eyes, it's still Booth that they fall on, the man who's stood by her side for years. He's the man who's taught her to reach out again, to lean towards another person, to laugh again, to cry. And now she finds he's teaching her still, leading her, because this is a road she's never been down, a road she didn't even have a map to before she met him. It's too much, too powerful.

He slips inside, just barely, and she shudders. Moving gently, he eases a little deeper the next time, still only halfway within her and her fingers flex, digging into the skin of his shoulders. There's a sheen of sweat over both of them, making their skin glow in the low-light of his bedroom.

He does this for ten or more strokes, until she's practically beside herself, and that's when he surprises her, when he thrusts deep. They both suck in a breath, and he pauses, a shudder going through his own body.

"Oh, god," he whispers, his lips falling to her neck, brushing by her ear. "I've wanted you…"

She wraps her legs around his hips, urging him closer, begging him silently not to stop, and he moves again, beginning a rhythm that feels more like a dance, like a choreographed waltz. He kisses her again, his tongue thrusting deep as his body does, and her whole body thrums and the edge she had been on minutes before returns in a flash of light behind her eyes. Again, she's frightened, losing control, without understanding. What is this…?

"Oh, god!" she gasps, squeezing her eyes shut.

"Look at me," he demands gruffly, his voice commanding. "Look at me, Temperance. You wanted to see, you wanted to know. Now open your eyes."

She does, and his blaze back into hers brightly, and she cries out, riding the rhythm of his hips, forcing him to move more quickly, to thrust more deeply, and his arms that support him above her begin to shake.

"Seeley --" she chokes out. "Oh..."

For a moment he almost looks surprised, there's a flash of it on his face, and then he's gasping with her, his arms collapsing and his hands sliding to her lower back, lifting her against him, holding her while he buries himself deep.

It feels like each cell rippling, like her heart leaps a bit further in her chest to try to press against his. Her eyes well and the tears spill, dampening her cheeks, trailing to her jaw. Her lids finally clamp shut again, her arms cling to him, her legs lock behind his back. Burying her face in the damp skin of his throat, she lets the churning rush take her.


	5. Chapter 5

**_so... i'm switching POV's. i'd planned on possibly doing it sooner, of switching back and forth between chapters, but i decided i wanted brennan's POV before they slept together and Booth's afterwards, so here we go. i hope you all like it, and thank you again for all the feedback. when it's silent on the other end, i tend to get self-conscious and not be as motivated to update -- so thank you. :) mia  
_**

**Chapter five.**

Moonlight sneaks through the slits in the blinds that cover the windows, casting strips of light across Seeley's bed. His chest heaving, he tries desperately to catch his breath. His partner's skin is slick beneath him, her own tummy rising and falling rapidly with breath. Her legs are still locked behind his back, trapping his body inside her own, holding them together as one.

His face is buried in her neck, and with each gasp he catches the scent that is uniquely Temperance. Her hair smells like clove, her skin like some sort of subtle citrus and now, her passion. It's intoxicating, consuming, and it's enough to nearly make him hard all over again.

He's afraid to lift his head, to look at her. He's having trouble understanding exactly what it is that's happened, and he knows when he sees her eyes it will answer a lot of questions – questions he's not sure he's ready to face. He'd been angry with her, angry that she felt the need to push him, and despite his promise to himself that he would stay away from her, he hadn't been able to do so. And when he'd realized there was no walking away, had set out to show her something, to prove something. Now he's worried he's the one who learned something.

He's wanted Temperance Brennan for a long time. He's fantasized and longed for her, and has desperately tried to hold back, to only give from her and never take. She's had so much taken from her in her life; he doesn't want to be another man who leaves her sorry she allowed them access to her heart. At the beginning of their partnership, she'd driven him mad, had made him feel exposed, had made him doubt his intelligence. But over the two years they've spent together, he finds his vulnerabilities are still present but of a different variety. He doubts a part of himself that he's locked away for a long time.

Now, with her against him, with her having surrendered her body to him, he's hit with a sharp, desperate belief that he doesn't deserve her.

Clenching his eyes shut, he finds his mouth opening against her neck again, kissing her, and she moans, her hand sliding up his back to tangle in his hair. He can feel how exhausted she is by the lazy way she moves her limbs, and knows she hasn't fully recovered.

He needs to get off of her.

Bracing his arms, he goes to move off of her, but she protests. Tightening her thighs around his hips, she whispers his name, and it's like a drug that races through his blood straight to his cock. It seems impossible he could get hard again so quickly, but that's exactly what's happening.

Lifting his head, he tries to avoid her eyes. "Bones…." he whispers. "We should –"

He's cut off by her mouth reaching for his; he tells himself that he'll indulge in just this kiss, that he'll give in for only a moment and then he'll be able to pull away from her.

She tastes so clean, so warm and wonderful, and he groans when her tongue rubs against his. Sinking into her, he lets his eyes fall closed, his hand sliding up to cup the back of her head. She sighs against his mouth, her hand coming up to stroke his cheek, and his stomach flips at this simple gesture.

He's always known she had passion hidden under the surface, always wondered what it would take to unlock it. But he had been unprepared for her response to him. Despite her initial hesitation and fear, she'd been so incredibly open, so giving. No woman has ever responded to him the way she has. Every touch, every kiss, she's given back fully. It's shaken him.

He finally tears his mouth from hers, desperately trying to catch his breath, and before he can catch control of his heartbeat her lips are open on his throat. He's shocked by it, surprised she isn't pulling away from him, trying to hide. It's almost as if a wall has come down, and, realizing she has nowhere to hide has simply decided to surrender instead.

"Temperance!" he gasps. "I –"

And she tightens around him suddenly, her muscles squeezing his cock, and he groans, his head spinning. Dear god, how is he supposed to pull away from her now?

"Booth…" she whispers, her mouth moving from the base of his neck across his chest. "Don't go, don't leave…"

He can't believe this is Bones, can't believe what she's asking. He's torn, confused, even scared by this – this thing with her is more than he's realized, and everything is screaming to run from her. He'd meant to challenge her, to frighten her just enough to back off. He'd never expected her to stay, to let him kiss her. And once he had…

Her tongue slides across his nipple, her teeth grazing the sensitive skin, and he growls low in his throat as she squeezes him tightly again, urging him, asking, and her hands start to slip down the front of his body to where the two of them remain joined.

"Show me again," she whispers, her voice caught somewhere between seduction and pleading.

Whatever control he's been clinging to snaps, and he grabs her hands, locking them above her head, pinning her to the mattress. Gasping, her eyes rise wide and bright to his, and, fully hard again, he pulls back and thrusts inside her deeply.

Her eyes fall shut and her head tips back, exposing the long, graceful line of her throat and her breasts. Between them, his dogtags wink in the lamplight, and for some reason a flash of possessiveness, of ownership grabs him; a feeling that, if only for a moment, she belongs completely and totally to him and only him.

With her hands trapped by his above her head, her body pinned by his, she is completely at his mercy and her response almost undoes him. Her body writhes beneath his, her hips undulating with each thrust, her head tossing from side to side, her skin turning a deep, beautiful shade of pink. Whispered words fly from her mouth, words he cannot catch due to the ringing between his own ears. He's chanting her name inside his head, her first name that he rarely allows himself to call her; a name that he avoids to keep his distance. As Bones, she is his partner, his friend to protect -- his responsibility.

As Temperance, she is so much more.

"Seeley!" she gasps, and he jerks his head up at the sound of his given name again on her lips. It's the second time she's used it tonight, and the sound of it, released in a moment of passion, makes his heart thump, causes his balls to tighten. It's an intimacy she rarely visits.

The feel of her body surrounding him, of her hips cradling him is so overwhelming he can barely see straight. He wonders briefly if it's a sin to feel this good, if it's a sign from God that he's allowed himself too much, has taken too much for himself. Because surely, nothing has ever so fully taken his body before.

He dips his head, pulling the blushed tip of her breast into his mouth, laving and teasing it with his tongue. She cries out hoarsely, her back arching, and he tightens his grip around her wrists, thrusting even harder against her at her reaction. He moves to her other breast, giving it the same love and attention before moving up her throat, and when he reaches her jaw he's surprised to find it damp. His eyes flying open, he sees the tears on her cheeks, sees the moisture leaking from her eyes still tightly clenched.

Her chin tilts upwards, her head falling back, her body tensing around him, and he knows the moment she finds her release, but he holds back, slowing his rhythm, trying to make it last as long as possible. Gasping, she struggles against him, her arms tensing, and he suddenly releases her wrists.

Her hands fly to his face, cupping his cheeks, and she is rising against him, pressing frantic, tearful kisses on his mouth. Groaning, he thrusts his own tongue deeply, tangling it with her own, and he picks up his rhythm again, causing her to cry out against his lips. Her dampened fingers slide from his cheek to cling to the slick skin at the back of his neck, and he feels the bowstring quivering of her hips as her body again starts to rush towards the edge of a cliff.

He drops his own head to tuck it tightly against her, his arms locking above them on the bed and his body driving into hers until he feels everything start to roll towards his center, gathering momentum that can't be stopped.

"Come with me, Temperance," he pleads, his voice rasping against her ear. "Come again, come for me…"

"Oh, god!" she screams, and her fingers dig almost painfully into his skin as her body begins to batter against his, her cheeks flushing brightly.

"Look at me!" he begs. "Open your eyes, open them now!"

She cries out again, her fingers yanking his hair hard, but her eyes fly open, and the moment they do he feels the waves that have been flying towards the heart of him reverse directions and burst outward, his orgasm shattering over him.

His arms give out and he collapses, his face falling against her breasts. "Oh, god, I love…" he chokes out, barely above a whisper, and he's unsure whether she's heard him. "Oh, god…"

Her arms are flung wide and her belly heaves beneath him, her breath rasping harshly. "Oh my god," she echoes, also clearly incapable of speech.

His arm comes up and he grasps the dog tags around her neck, holding them tightly in his fist, closing his eyes. He can feel her drop her head to the side, rolling against the pillow, and he tries desperately to regain some sort of composure, to have enough strength to pull himself from her.

Together, almost in unison, their heartbeats slowly begins to return to normal, their breathing becoming more shallow and deep. He raises his head finally, his body protesting and exhausted, and when he glances in her direction, he sees her eyes are still closed, her fingers curled around the edge of one of his pillowcases.

Slowly, gently, he eases himself from her body, lifting himself above her and sliding towards the edge of the bed. Reaching down, her clutches his sweatpants that have been kicked to the floor and backs slowly towards his bathroom, his hand rising to run through his hair.

With the door clicking quietly shut behind him, he shoves his legs into his pants, taking a deep, shuddering breath. God, what has he done? He's made love to her not once, but _twice_ with barely a breath in between, and, turning towards the sink, he braces his now-weak arms on the sides of the porcelain, raising his eyes wearily to view his reflection in the mirror.

To the naked eye, he appears unchanged. Just a hint of new beard has appeared along his jaw, and his eyes are heavy-lidded in exhaustion. But the way he feels – it's anything but unchanged.

He drops his head, unable to look at himself. The woman he's craved for more than two years is on the other side of the door, tangled and sweaty in his sheets and he's terrified to be near her.

When she'd asked him to show her, begged him to let her see what he'd meant by making love, he'd been unable to deny her. It had seemed like the perfect escape, the ultimate distraction from what he was feeling to drown in her. But it has had the opposite effect. Now he feels even more lost, feels like he's flailing, and he wants nothing more than to cling to her, to have her hold him tightly against her.

Which is exactly what he can't allow to happen. Bones thinks she's damaged, but it's him that's damaged; he's the one that she shouldn't allow herself to need, to depend on. All these years in the FBI that he's spent attempting to set right what he was during the war – it's all for naught. Because in one moment, one distracted moment, he fumbled and is back where he started.

And it's because he's allowed himself to love her.

The suspect they'd been chasing had drawn them into a warehouse, and Seeley had nearly lost his footing when he'd stumbled over the first body. Silently ushering his team, he'd made his way through the massive building, drawing around the suspect from all sides until he'd been cornered, sealing him in the back storage room where he'd held his hostage captive.

And it had been almost over, so close to being finished. They'd trapped him, he'd had nowhere to go, and it should have been the end. But the hostage had turned to him for a moment, his eyes wild a fearful, his hands bound above him, and in that instant Seeley had seen Temperance, had been thrust back to when she'd been taken and nearly killed and he for just one moment froze, and the killer had seen it and taken his shot at him.

And he'd shot back. Shot without thinking, shot with his mind clouded and worried for a woman who wasn't even there, and a man, an innocent man, had died because of it – because of him.

He can't forgive himself. It's not even that he made a mistake, but that he'd only seen _her_ in that moment -- that he'd allowed himself to forget his job and his place and his purpose and be flooded with the memories of how scared he'd been to lose her, of how fearful he'd been that he was too late.

Flipping on the faucet angrily, he splashes cold water on his face, scrubbing his bare arms, but when he shuts off the water, her scent still clings to his skin, still invades his nose. Cursing under his breath, he snatches a towel from the back of the door and presses it to his face, trying to steady his nerves. He can't stay in here all night.

When he finally opens the door, he takes only a few steps in the door, his eyes falling to the bed. She is still there, having rolled onto her stomach, the sheet bunched up at the small of her back, leaving the rest of it bare and exposed. Pieces of her hair still cling to her face, but her breathing is slow and even, indicating she's asleep.

Stepping back, he presses his back to the wall and slowly sinks to the floor, his eyes still on her face half-pressed into his pillow. He lets his head drop back softly again the wall, his eyes falling closed, and he wonders if she will sleep until morning.


	6. Chapter 6

_**hello, all... i'd like to thank all the little birdies who've been recommending this little fic on the internet -- so flattering and lovely to have more readers (especially those who share their thoughts and ideas.)**_

_**i tend to work in a flurry of excitement and productivity in the beginning of any project and then slow down a bit, so expect a lot of updating at first and then it will probably mellow out at some point. :) i'm not a robot either, SSJL. :)**_

_**a few of you have asked about me -- i'm a 27 year old living in san francisco going into medicine. i don't watch much TV, but smart, sexy stories are a weakness for me, which explains why i love Bones... i don't consider myself overly angsty -- that's just kind of the direction this one went this time. hopefully it will still work for you guys in the end. i really wanted to kind of play with opposite roles in this but still try to stay true to the characters. i just thought it would be fun to put them in circumstances that test them and one another. :) **_

_**thanks ahead of time if you take the time to review -- it's always welcome and inspiring. xoxo mia**_

**Chapter six.**

He is sitting on the edge of the bed an hour later, his hand reaching out to brush strands of her hair gently from where it hides her face. She shifts slightly at the touch of his fingertips, sighing softly in sleep, and when he lets his hand linger, she tips her jaw, pressing her face into his palm. She reminds him of a cat he'd had growing up – even asleep it would gravitate towards the warmth of him, would unconsciously curl into his touch.

The light leaking in through the window casts streaks over the skin of her bare back, and he lets his hand slip from her cheek to trail lightly along her spine. Again she responds, shifting towards him, her hand reaching out and finding his knee where it lies bent across the blankets and his throat goes dry.

She is so affectionate, so surprising. He's known for quite awhile that she cares for him deeply, that she trusts him. But Bones has always been cool and collected, matter-of-fact and rational. He feels as if he's getting a small glimpse of the Temperance that existed before her parents left, before her brother took off – that she's as warm as her smile has occasionally suggested.

His hand comes to rest at the small of her back and her hips rise slightly, pressing into his touch. He wants desperately to hold her, to tuck her body against his own, but he knows it's not a good idea. The longer he entertains this fantasy, the longer he pretends this is something it isn't, the harder it will be to disentangle himself from her.

In the years he's come to understand Temperance, he's realized how loving and accepting she can be. She's always made him feel strong, always trusted that in exchange for her skills, he would keep her safe. She believes him to be a good man, a man who won't disappoint her, and his heart aches at her realizing one day that isn't true. It's a thought he can barely entertain.

He's imagined a moment many times where he gives in to his desire for her, where she lets him touch her. In those scenarios, she's always equally aggressive, confident. She's a woman who's never shied away from sexual discussions or hidden her interest in it. Hell, he's always figured she could show him a thing or two, could really knock his socks off.

But he'd never expected her to be so vulnerable, so open. He'd never expected her to have tears in her eyes or to cling to him the way she had, to give so much of herself and allow him everything. He's been with enough women to know that she had held nothing back, that she'd completely surrendered any reservations or walls she may have built up over the years, at least for those few moments. It means something, he knows it does, whether he understands what that is exactly or not.

She shifts in her sleep again, scooting closer, and despite a moment's hesitation, he allows himself to continue to stroke her back, to let his hand slide up her skin to slide his fingers into her hair.

"Booth…" she sighs, curling around him, tucking herself close to him.

It nearly stops his heart to see her this way, so unguarded, so vulnerable. He wishes this could last indefinitely, that she could remain asleep and he could sit beside her. Because when she wakes up, she will still be Bones, she will still want answers. And the only answer he's been able to come up with since he left the bathroom is that he needs distance from her, and fast. She won't understand, not for the reasons he has, and if he's learned anything about her in the last few years, Temperance Brennan is relentless until she understands.

He can't seem to allow himself to climb back into bed with her, to indulge in holding her and sleeping beside her. As he lets the hair closest to her face sift slowly between his fingers, he tells himself that he will move to the couch, that he will get up, that he needs only one more minute and then he'll leave.

But something else makes the decision for him – his phone rings from its place in the living room. Hurrying out of the room to silence it before it wakes her, he sighs when he sees the number of his superior on the display.

"Booth," he says wearily, pressing the phone to his ear.

In only a matter of minutes he's walking swiftly back to his bedroom, leaning over her in the bed, his hand gently on her shoulder.

"Bones, wake up," he says gently. "Come on."

She moans softly, rolling onto her back, the sheet pulling from her chest and his breath catches for a moment at the sight of more bare skin.

"Bones, hey," he urges. "Come on, baby, wake up."

Her eyes finally flutter open and he can see her trying to focus on his face. He straightens up and she suddenly sits up in bed with a start, her eyes widening. "What's wrong?"

"There's another body, only a half mile down from where the other one was found this morning," he says quietly.

Her brow furrows, and he realizes she's still in a daze. Tugging open his dresser drawer, he grabs a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. "We have to go," he explains her. "I told them I'd pick you up and bring you out there."

She frowns. "Why would you –" She stops abruptly, realizing what he's just said. "Oh."

He shrugs on the t-shirt he's grabbed as she suddenly throws the covers back, jumping from his bed. She flips the covers around, her hair hanging in her face, and he realizes she's searching for her underwear. Blushing, he steps forward to help her and begins to dig amongst the tangled sheets with her until his hands close over the scrap of lace. He presses them into her palm, avoiding her eyes, but she doesn't take them from him immediately and so he glances up.

She's naked, her hair a tangle from rolling with him in the bed, and her nipples are taut from the chill in the room. The room is too dark for him to make out her expression, and so he presses the panties more tightly in her hand and she finally accepts them, turning to search for her bra.

His heart is thumping as he watches her fasten the clasp across her back, her muscles moving beneath her skin, and when she bends slightly to pull on her underwear, the light in the room falls as she shifts and he sees two twin dimples at the base of her spine that he hadn't known were there. And when she turns around, that same light is shining on his dogtags, still hanging securely around her neck.

He turns away from her as she hurries past him towards the kitchen to collect her pants and shirt. He hears the rush of the faucet in the hall bathroom a moment later, and the splash of water as she attempts to clean herself up.

Reaching for a belt, he tries to think of what to say to her, of how he's going to get through this car ride, through this evening. What has happened tonight is something that he had figured would only live in his fantasies. He'd never prepared himself with what might happen after – it was always only a hypothetical to begin with.

"Booth."

He snaps his head up as he's looping the leather through his jeans to see her standing in the doorway, still barefoot.

"Do you…" She blushes, her gaze dropping to the floor. "Do you have a sweatshirt with a hood on it, something that would cover my neck?" she asks quietly.

His brow furrowing, he steps closer to her, snapping on the lamp by his bed as he comes around it to the doorway. He looks at her questioningly and she pushes her still-tangled hair to the side to reveal the reddened and tender skin that's been chafed by his five o'clock shadow and the assault of his lips.

"Shit," he mutters, turning on his heel and heading quickly back to the dresser. Fishing through his belongings, he pulls out an FBI sweatshirt from his days in training, well-worn and with a large hood.

"Here," he murmurs, handing it over. "I'm sorry."

She shakes her head, accepting the shirt. "It's okay."

He snags his wallet from the bedside table, shoving it into his back pocket and grabs his badge from his dresser.

"You ready?"

She sighs, running her fingers through her hair and he watches them catch in a tangle. "I can't show up to a crime scene like this," she says helplessly.

He swallows, turning back to his dresser and grabbing his brush. When he heads back, she's standing in front of his mirror trying to wipe the slight smudges from the corners of her eyes and, hesitating, he gently reaches out to run the brush through her hair.

"Ouch," she says, wincing when it gets stuck, and he sucks in a breath.

"Sorry."

She makes no move to pull away, however, or to take the brush from him, and so he tries again, more gently, trying to work the tangles carefully from her hair.

She lets him, trying to repair some of her make-up with eyeliner she's pulled from the bag she's got with her. The intimacy of brushing her hair is making him nervous, keeping him quiet. When she finally drops the pencil back into her purse, she still waits, watching him in the mirror as he works out the last few knots. When he finally gets the courage to glance at her their eyes lock for a moment and he feels the breath whoosh from his chest.

"Here," he says awkwardly, stepping back and handing her the brush. "I think I got most of them, but you can… finish."

She tosses the brush on the bed instead, digging into the pocket of her pants and comes up with a small elastic, pulling her hair back from her face. With the large hood on the sweatshirt, her neck is still mostly covered, and she twists her hair into and easy knot at the back of her head.

"I'm ready," she murmurs.

He nods, waiting for her to move first, and she finally heads towards the doorway. Following quickly behind her, he's unprepared for her when she stops suddenly, turning, and he nearly plows into her body.

Her hands come up to his chest to steady them both and he closes his eyes for a moment, wishing to god she was still asleep and he was still sitting on the edge of the bed. He has no idea how to deal with what he's feeling.

She lets her fingers curl into the fabric of his t-shirt for a moment, and he thinks that she might say something but she stays quiet. And then, with no warning, she tips up onto her toes and presses her mouth quickly and firmly against his.

His arm comes around her waist to keep her from losing her balance, and despite the wave of panic that runs over him, he can't deny the rush that shoots through his body at the feel of her lips against his. He wants to forget the case, forget that anyone else has senselessly died, forget that this is all a dangerous idea to begin with and take her back to bed.

She tilts her head and deepens the kiss and he moans, turning to press her against the wall by the door. He knows he's sending mixed messages, that it's foolish to continue with this if he plans to distance himself, but it's proving to be impossible.

She nips his bottom lip between her teeth and he presses her harder against the wall, thrusting his tongue deeply into her mouth, making her gasp. He wants to tear his sweatshirt off her, wants to take her right here against the wall, to forget about everything that's cycling through his head when he's not touching her.

She's proving to be both the poison and the antidote, and he doesn't understand how this is supposed to work if that's the case. His hand slides under the sweatshirt and up to cup her breast in his palm and she moans into his mouth, sending a jolt straight to his crotch.

It is his phone that interrupts them again and he jumps back from her, dropping his eyes. "Shit," he mutters. "Bones, we have to go – now."

Her mouth is swollen when he sneaks another glance at her, and she nods quickly, turning and walking out of his bedroom. Taking a deep breath, he answers the phone, hoping his voice is steadier than it sounds.

**xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox  
**

They are not silent in the car, or awkward. They are not Temperance and Seeley -- they are once again Booth and Bones, and she's fully awake at his point, clutching a cup of coffee from a nearby drive-thru, asking about the body. He keeps his eyes on the road and off of her, sharing the small details with her that he knows from the brief phone call with Cullen.

He's still talking by the time they pull into the site, and she leaps to the ground from the passenger seat gracefully, all business. When they reach the body, Camille is already there, dropped down in a squat next to the victim.

"There's a lot of tissue still here," Temperance says quietly, sinking down next to Cam. "This seems more like your kind of site to be at, not mine."

Camille sighs, plucking something from the body with a pair of tweezers, dropping it into a plastic bag. "But it was found only half a mile from your skeleton, hands bound in the same manner," she says quietly. "And there's a lot of decomp here, Dr. Brennan. I'd say it's somewhere in limbo between what we both like to work with."

Seeley watches the two of them interact, his own cup of coffee held loosely by the rim in his left hand. He sees Bones snap on a pair of gloves, shifting her weight on the balls of her feet as Camille notices her shirt.

"Did you officially join the FBI and not let us know?" the forensic scientist jokes.

Seeley stiffens slightly, but Temperance doesn't glance up from her examination of the body. "I was cold; it was in the backseat of Booth's truck," she says calmly. "My jacket is too bulky to work in."

Clearly satisfied with her answer, Camille continues her own examination, reaching for more plastic bags.

Seeley squats down across from his partner, his eyes on her and not the body that lies on the plastic tarp. "Well?"

She tilts her head, considering. "Female, mid to late teens again. I'll have to have a better look at her bones to see if she's also an athlete, but so far she seems to resemble the other victim in age and stature." She shrugs. "But this is a much more recent kill – the other body could be months older."

He nods, standing and reaching for his phone. "Let's take it all in, the rope and weights. It's cold as all hell out here."

Standing, she snaps off her gloves and looks at him for a moment. "Okay."

**xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox**

Standing on the periphery, he watches her more closely examine the body. Hours have passed, it's well into the night, and he's well past exhausted.

Camille is suddenly next to him, telling him something about their being enough tissue to extract DNA, and he nods slowly. Reaching for his keys, he turns to his partner, who's writing furiously on a chart.

"Bones, I'm going to take off," he says quickly, trying to sound casual. "I'm beat, and I have to be at the bureau early in the morning for a meeting."

She snaps her head up, her eyes widening. "What?"

"Well, you… you don't need my help, do you?" he asks, surprised by her reaction. It's close to four in the morning – does she want him to stay with her? Does she want to come back to his apartment, to possibly to talk tonight? He's not ready for that.

"No, but I…." She trails off, her eyes falling back to her chart. "That's fine, I'll call you tomorrow with any results I have," she says quietly.

Nodding, he starts to head off to the front door, calling goodnight to Camille, who also turns back towards her office.

"Booth!"

He turns at the sharp whisper and sees Temperance chasing after him, her body slightly lost in his sweatshirt.

"What?" he asks quietly, glancing towards Cam's office.

"My car is at your house," she murmurs. "And so are my keys."

He pulls his lower lips between his teeth, his hand coming up to rake through his hair. "They are?"

She nods. "Wait here, just let me drop off something on Angela's desk for tomorrow," she says quickly.

He watches her disappear quickly towards their offices, and he curses under his breath. Her car is at his apartment; her keys are upstairs. He almost wants to weep at the thought, so exhausted and so fearful that she'll want to talk, or worse – that if she comes up he won't be able to let her leave.

He needs to figure this out, needs to talk to someone about this who has a neutral stance. Usually it's Temperance – he can count on her to be levelheaded and objective, but not in this.

Which leaves one person.


	7. Chapter 7

**_okay, a few quick things. one, thanks, as always, for all the positive feedback. those of you who take the time; i really appreciate it. even though i write for my enjoyment, it's still a lot of work, so it always helps to hear encouraging words and know that people are excited. _**

_**two, i know this has been rather angsty (angstier than i intended, actually) but it won't last forever, i promise. i just really think booth's got some stuff to work out, and the more i thought about the scenario i created, the more i realized that it would tie into deeper, underlying issues he still has surrounding his time in the military. and, you know... who better to help him through it than bones, right? so yeah, hang on for just a bit longer. i promise to try to make it all worth it in the end. :)**_

_**thirdly, this is a shorter chapter because i'm tired and decided the next part will be quite long. and no, to those of you who suggested it, he's not talking to angela (neutral, my ass :)) or cam. nope, nope. you'll just have to wait and see... xoxo mia**_

Chapter seven.

He's so lost in his own thoughts and trying to keep his eyes off of her on the way home that when he pulls into the lot outside his building he is surprised to find her asleep. He sighs, slowly unbuckling his safety belt, his eyes sliding over her face, her lips pursed slightly in dream. He wonders what Bones dreams about.

Opening his door quietly, he walks around to the passenger side of the truck and gently opens her door, careful not to disturb her. Reaching up for her, he slips her down easily into his arms, cradling her gently, and he kicks the door shut with his foot as he makes his way across the snow-filled parking lot.

When he reaches the door, he finds he has to support her with only one arm and his knee, lifting his leg up to help him out while he struggles with his keys. As she's lifted slightly, she curls into him, tucking closer, letting out a sigh as she presses her face against the side of his throat.

Despite the distraction of her breath on his skin, he manages to get the key turned in the lock, only to repeat the process when he reaches the top of the stairs and his own apartment. She shifts in his arms slightly, her hands curling into the front of his jacket.

He eyes the couch as he passes it, thinking he should tuck her into bed and sleep out in the living room, help him clear his head. He'll never figure out what to do if he doesn't get some distance from her, get some time to sort everything in this head out. He needs to talk to someone tomorrow, and until he does, he knows he won't be able to relax.

When he reaches his bedroom, he sees the rumple of blankets and sheets and sees a flash of her beneath him again, naked, crying out. Frustrated, he lays her down gently, reaching for her boots. For the second time that night, he slides the legs of her pants up and pulls down the zipper, discarding her footwear on the floor next to the bed. He hesitates at her jeans, wondering if he should leave them on. No one likes to sleep in jeans, but the idea of pulling them off of her seems like a bad one.

She sighs discontentedly suddenly, and he sits on the bed, making up his mind. Reaching for the button, he slips her pants down over her hips, shimmying them over her bare legs until she's left in only a pair of lace underwear and his own faded sweatshirt. The material of the hood is bunched uncomfortably under her neck, and he stands up and tugs another one of his t-shirts from his drawer, heading back to her side.

"Bones," he murmurs, pulling her arms up slightly so he can ease the sweatshirt up her torso. "Hey, lift your arms, baby."

She grumbles something in her sleep, and though she's not much help, she doesn't protest as he tugs the sweatshirt off of her. He eyes her bra for a moment and then pulls it off of her quickly as well, making sure he doesn't let his eyes linger on her breasts before hastily tugging the t-shirt over her head. At least she'll be comfortable.

He covers her gently with his blankets, pausing to brush her hair from her forehead lightly and she turns onto her side suddenly, tucking up against him. Dropping a quick kiss on her temple, he moves to stand up to head towards the couch when she moans, holding onto him.

He can't tell if she's asleep and talking despite being unconscious, or if she's awake and barely alive with exhaustion. Either way, she's protesting his attempt to leave her, and he grits his teeth, trying to ease his arm away from her and uncoil her fingers from his wrist.

"Don't go…" she moans softly. And then, quietly, his name leaves her lips.

He wars with himself for a moment, trying to decide what to do. Well he waits, she scoots closer to him, shivering slightly, and he finally relents. Pulling his arm from hers, he toes of his shoes and stands, moving to shed his jeans and she lets out a small whimper. Surprised, he looks down to see that she's frowning in her sleep, looking distressed, and he says her name quietly, trying to soothe her.

"I'm not leaving," he murmurs.

She quiets at the sound of his voice, and he flips his t-shirt over his head and tosses it on the chair next to his dresser before climbing in beside her. Instantly she's next to him, gravitating towards his heat and his body, and he sighs again, letting her tuck into his arms and turning towards her.

He clenches his jaw when her thigh slides up to nestle between his, and she tucks her face between his neck and shoulder, letting out a slow breath. In only a few moments, her breathing is steady and even, and he's convinced she's slipped further back into unconsciousness.

He wonders if sleep will ever find him.

**xoxoxoxoxoxoxxoxoxoxxoxox**

The dim lights make it hard for him to see as he makes his way silently through the warehouse. He can see his breath in the chilled air, leaving his nose in quick, silent bursts.

He's nervous. The gun feels heavier in his hand than normal, colder, and he turns around slowly to speak to the officer that had been following close behind him and frowns – he's alone.

Cursing silently at the younger agent's inability to follow his orders, he creeps towards the small room in the back, seeing the golden glow of light seeping out around the frame of the door.

"Gotcha," he whispers under his breath.

Creeping closer, he pauses once again, wondering where in the hell his back-up has gone and if they've moved on to the eastern side of the warehouse, thinking this side clear. Realizing he is too close to use his radio and risk spooking the suspect, he moves to head back in the other direction to find at least two more agents when he hears a painful moan from inside the room.

"Damnit," he mutters, barely above a whisper. He's on his own.

Pulling back his leg and coiling the muscles in his thigh tightly, he snaps his foot out into the door, sending it snapping off its hinges and falling open and to the side.

But the man he's been hunting is not inside. Frowning, he sees only a woman; her back to him, her head bent slightly, her hair draped around her face.

"It's okay, you're safe," he rasps quickly. "FBI."

She turns slowly, and he sees the bloodstain on her shirt, the dark read seeping into the fabric and starts towards her but she lifts her head and he freezes, his own blood running cold.

"Bones…." he whispers in shock.

She raises her eyes to his, her face clenched in pain, her hands moving to cover her wound, clasp to her chest, and he backs up in horror, his gun falling from his hand and crashing to the floor.

"How could you?" she whispers, her face going pale.

"Oh, god!" he gasps, stumbling back further, nearly tripping on the fallen door behind him. "No, Bones –"

She lifts up a shaking hand, her eyes widening at the red smeared all over her palm and lets out a strangled moan.

"Oh, god, no, _please no,_" he pleads. "Not you, no…"

"Seeley!" she says suddenly, but her lips don't move and he clenches his eyes tightly shut, shaking his head in disbelief.

And then there are hands on his shoulders, warm hands, and her voice is pleading with him to open his eyes, to look at her, but he can't, he can't see her dying in front of him.

"No, no, no…" he chants.

"Seeley!"

Her arms start to come around him and he struggles, trying to fight off her embrace and then he feels her palm pressed to his cheek, her breath on his face. "Wake up," she says firmly.

His eyes snap open and he sees her above him, is just able to make out her face in the darkness of the room.

"No!" he gasps. "Oh, god, I killed you…"

"I'm right here," she says, her voice steady and strong. "I'm right here."

He stops moving, his arms stilling and his fingers winding around her upper arms as she hovers over him and he's suddenly aware that he's in his bed, and that she's very much alive.

"Oh, god," he moans, his eyes filling, his face twisting in anguish. "Bones."

She sinks back down to the bed, wrapping her arms around him and pulling her towards him, and he follows her without resistance, his face burying in her shoulder and the tangle of her hair where it's pulled free from it's bindings.

"I'm sorry!" he rasps. "Oh, god, I'm so sorry!"

She pulls him in her embrace more tightly, her hand coming up to cup the back of his head, holding him to her, and he shudders, trying to wrap himself more tightly around her, to absorb her warmth – he feels so cold, and his feet are aching where they were broken all those years ago.

"Shhh, it's okay," she soothes. "You had a nightmare, Booth."

He moves his head to her chest, pressing his ear to it, and he hears her heart thumping smoothly and steadily beneath her ribcage. Sucking in a breath, he squeezes his eyes tightly shut as embarrassment of what has just happened floods him, beginning to mix with his fear, only making him tremble against her.

He tries to pull away but she holds him firmly. He stills completely, afraid to move, and after a moment of this she reaches down, cupping his face, trying to force him to look at her.

He shakes his head, he eyes still clamped firmly shut. "No."

"Booth," she says quietly. "What happened?"

Refusing to speak, he tenses his muscles more tightly, preparing to pull away again, but she stops him again – this time with a kiss.

Her mouth is pressed to his jaw, gently, and then she moves it to his cheek, repeating the gesture. Moaning, he starts to shake his head again, overwhelmed, but she keeps it up, moving higher to brush her lips over his tightly closed eyelids and then lightly over his own mouth.

A protest bubbles to the surface, but before he can speak, she kisses him again, this time more deeply, and his hands that had moved up to pull her off of him slide up to cup the back of her head, this time holding her against him.

She's stroking his cheek with her left hand lightly, tilting her face to one side to move her mouth gently over his, and, shaking, he returns her kiss.

Suddenly he's convinced the only way he can be sure she's okay is to feel her beneath him, to touch her everywhere, to make sure she's unhurt. His hands jump to her waist and he flips her beneath him suddenly, causing her to gasp, and then he's kissing her deeply, his tongue thrusting into her mouth to slide against her own.

She moans into the kiss, her hands flying to his bare shoulders, stroking, caressing. His hand slides over her hip to her thigh and he suddenly jerks her against him, forcing her leg around his waist and she pulls her mouth from his, pressing her lips instead to the side of his neck, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses as she makes her way to his shoulder.

He pulls back out of her reach, shoving his t-shirt that covers her body up her torso, searching for her breasts, and he latches his mouth onto her nipple, suckling until she's crying out. She's tugging at the waistband of his underwear, trying to shove them down over his hips, now caught up in the storm as much as he is, and he lets go of her thigh to jerk his boxers down and off. Her hand is immediately between them, wrapping around him, and he sucks in a sharp breath at her touch.

He slips his own hand between her legs, shocked at how damp she is this quickly, and it only makes him harder, more desperate. Brushing her hand from him, he slips his hand beneath her lower back, lifting her, and then thrusts deeply, filling her up.

She lets out a shout, her hands falling to his shoulders, and he drops his head, groaning as he sinks into her again, this time more slowly.

It's the third time he's been inside her in less than twenty-four hours, and the voice inside of his head warns him that this isn't exactly the best way to keep his distance. The scent of their bodies again joining together rises up from the sheets, and he gasps as she tilts her hips back, allowing him to bury himself completely inside her with his next thrust.

Dropping his head between her breasts, his lips search out the pulse of her heartbeat, and this is where he presses his kiss; grateful, so grateful that she is alive and beneath him.

"Yes!" she gasps. "Oh my god…"

He picks up the pace, his breath coming in quick bursts from his chest, and this time it is Temperance that demands from him, that voices her request.

"Seeley, look at me!" she says on a breath. "Please!"

But he can't, and he tucks his head more tightly into her neck, kissing her as he rides the rhythm of her hips.

But this is Temperance, this is a woman who doesn't allow for halfway or giving up, and she whispers her plea again, in a voice he can't ignore, and he raises his eyes to hers finally and sees the warmth and the concern.

"I'm here with you," she assures him as he feels his orgasm thundering towards him. "I'm here."

**xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxxoxo**

When he awakens, the light is streaming through the windows and Temperance is curled against him, her back curving into his side. Lifting his head slowly, he untangles himself from her slowly, pulling himself to his feet, and he stands for a moment, simply staring down at the bed.

Half an hour later, he's showered and dressed and he returns to this same spot, her still-sleeping form having shifted beneath the sheets so that she's lying on her stomach. Swallowing, he drops down to press a kiss to her cheek that is exposed and not against the pillow.

"Bones," he murmurs. "I have an appointment, I have to go."

She mumbles something incoherent, and he chews on his lower lip. "You should sleep," he says softly. "I'll be back."

"S'okay," she says as she shifts, burying her face in his pillow.

Backing away from her slowly, he grabs his keys from the bedside table and heads out the door.

**xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxxo**

_**okay, i'll admit it... reviews make my day. :) please give me a smile...**_


	8. Chapter 8

_**i would just like to say that the reason that i'm able to update so much is due to the fact that i'm on vacation -- a vacation that ends tomorrow. and i've been home more than i would have been because my friends and i canceled the trip we'd planned due to lousy weather, so boo. :( anyway, i'm avoiding studying and this has been an excellent way to do that. :) so thanks. **_

_**i hope this chapter gives a little more of the Bones we're used to -- after this chapter, i'm switching back to her POV -- it will go back and forth between the two fairly evenly, i hope. i was kind of trying to show that i think temperance can be vulnerable in situations outside of her family, but that when she's pushed and needs to be strong, she doesn't disappoint. i'm just trying to lay some base work, here. and reviews are always appreciated. sometimes it's hard to get out of my own head and see how it's reading to others, so every bit helps. this story belongs to you guys as much as it does to me. :) xoxo mia**_

**xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox**

**Chapter eight.**

Snapping his phone shut in frustration, Seeley swings his car through the intersection, roaring across town. Dr. Wyatt's voice has just informed him through his office voicemail that he's out of town and unavailable until the end of the month.

Frustrated, he tosses his phone onto the passenger seat, letting out a slow breath. His fingers drumming on the steering wheel, he considers his options. He's always been a private guy – the idea of spilling his guts to Gordon and Sweets in the last year has been an irritation inflicted by the bureau, and even through he knows Dr. Wyatt had helped him through his issues with Epps, talking to a therapist still isn't his idea of a good time.

But he's out of his element here. He feels almost as if he's overflowing at the moment, brimming with something that needs to be let out, and he realizes there's no one in his personal life that he feels he can talk about this with – no one he wants to disappoint, no one he wants to know the truth.

Which leaves him very few options.

His partner is at his home, in his bed, and the panic that rises up in his chest at that very thought leaves him desperate and willing to consider alternatives he would normally immediately dismiss. Ever since the shooting he's been having nightmares like the one he had early this morning, and it's getting worse. The night before it had been Parker in the warehouse; the night before that, his mother. Anyone who's ever mattered to him seems doomed to make an appearance.

Maybe he deserves this, he thinks angrily as he races through downtown. Maybe this is what he gets for letting an innocent man die – his family is probably having dreams that are far worse. But he can't deal with both this and Bones at the same time – and he's sure as hell not telling any therapist about his partner and their knew definition of the word.

He finally reaches his new destination, swinging into the parking lot and jerking the SUV to a halt. Inside the building, he impatiently punches the button for the elevator, his other hand falling to his hip, his fingers digging into his waist.

After brushing past a surprised secretary who had promised no one else was in the room, he bursts into an office and Sweets looks up from his paperwork in surprise, his eyes wide.

"Agent Booth!"

The doctor stands quickly, smoothing his tie; his body language screaming to Seeley just how nervous the kid is in his presence. _Good_, he thinks. _Don't want the twerp thinking this is going to be a regular occurrence and get comfortable. _

"I need to talk to you," he blurts out, both hands falling to his hips as he looks the young psychiatrist directly in the eye.

"Yeah, okay, yeah," Sweets says quickly, dropping back down into his chair. "But I don't have you and Dr. Brennan in until tomorrow – do you need to reschedule?"

"Dr. Brennan's not here," he points out, gesturing to the empty space next to him, his nerves already grating. This was a terrible idea.

Sweets pauses, glancing at him. "I can see that, Agent Booth."

Sighing, Seeley drops into a chair next to him. "This is personal," he mutters.

Surprised, Sweets picks up a pen, flipping open an appointment book. "You want to make an appointment for an individual session?"

"No, I want to talk to you _now._" He sighs, rubbing his forehead, realizing how rude that sounded. "I mean, if you have a few minutes."

Flipping his leather-bound book closed, Sweets leans back in his chair. "Yeah, I have a few minutes." He pauses, crossing his arms across his chest. "What's going on, Agent Booth?"

Taking a deep breath, he taps his fingers on the edge of the chair, shifting his weight for a moment as he tries to decide what to say. Now that he's here, he finds he's at a loss.

A few silent minutes tick by and Sweets finally leans forward, propping his elbows on his desk. "Is this about what happened last week in the warehouse?"

Startled, Seeley glances up at him, his eyes narrowing. "How do you know about that?" he asks, his voice low.

"As your therapist, the bureau found it necessary for me to have –"

"You are _not_ my therapist," he snaps back. "I see you with my _partner_ once a week to talk about our professional relationship and how that impacts our job." Cursing under his breath, he tries to stifle the anger he's feeling towards his supervisor at the moment.

Sweets is quiet, clearly waiting for him to speak first, and he sighs again. "They shouldn't have told you about that."

"Why is that?"

He glances up at the kid again, frowning. "Because it's personal."

"Is it?" The psychiatrist leans back in his chair again, tilting his head and making him feel under the microscope. "I was under the impression it was a casualty that resulted while you were working for the bureau and that the FBI's official stance is that the death was accidental and that your job is in no way in question."

Seeley clenches his jaw, his hand drifting to his temple to massage the ache that's appeared. "Of course they say that," he mutters.

"So you're saying that's not the case? That it _is_ personal?"

"You ever killed anyone, Sweets?" he snaps.

"No, I haven't."

"Then don't tell me it's not personal."

The therapist sighs. "I didn't say it wasn't, Agent Booth. I asked _you_ if it was."

He rubs his face wearily, the lack of sleep catching up with him. "Of course it's fucking personal," he mutters. "The man was innocent and caught in the crossfire and it was a bullet from _my _gun that killed him. Now his kids have no father, his wife is widowed. That seems pretty _personal_ to me."

"So you feel guilty?"

He rolls his eyes heavenward, pushing out an irritated breath. "Of _course_ I fucking feel guilty. The man's _dead_ because of me."

"But the man you caught – he'd killed others, correct?"

"So?" he asks, his eyes narrowing.

"So you apprehended a murderer in the process. And while this man's death is certainly –"

"No, _NO,_" Seeley snaps, leaning forward and slamming his hand on the desk in front of him, his eyes blazing, causing the kid to jump. "That's exactly the same bullshit mentality that the used in the military and that's garbage! The end doesn't always justify the means, damnit! A life is a life – one's not more important than another!"

Sweets looks slightly freaked out by his outburst, and Seeley slowly eases back into his chair, his eyes still on the kid behind his desk. "I spent years as a sniper picking people off from some damn list they gave me, justifying it to myself that these people deserved to die, that they would take more lives if I didn't."

"And you don't believe that?"

He sighs, fiddling with his cell phone in his pocket. "No, that's true. They would have inflicted a lot of damage if they were still alive."

Sweets pauses. "What are you saying?"

He shifts again in his chair, irritated by all the questions. "I'm saying I still _killed _people. I hid in the shadows and I shot people unaware and took them from their families and children and I told myself that as long as I kept the bigger picture in mind, I could do it."

The psychiatrist nods. "And you feel that is similar to your current situation?"

"I'm saying a life is a life. I'm saying that regardless of what people have done, being the one who makes that decision, who allows them to die isn't something we should just…_explain away_." He rubs his jaw, dropping his eyes. "I hate taking a life. I always hated it, that moment before I pulled the trigger. It didn't matter what I knew about the person, either, in that last few seconds. I knew that I was playing God, making a decision that wasn't necessarily mine to make."

Sweets is solemn, his hands crossed in front of him. "And you felt that happened in the warehouse?"

"No," he mutters, frustrated. "No, no. That was – that was unplanned," he says stiffly. "That man wasn't supposed to die, but he did anyway, and it was because of me, because I couldn't focus, because…"

"You believe your lack of focus is what caused this man's death?"

Grunting, Seeley sits up straighter in his chair. "Is this your job? To just ask me questions and repeat back what I've told you?" he asks accusingly.

Sweets, for the first time since he's entered the office, looks unperturbed, relaxed. "My job, Agent Booth, is to be an active listener. To be a person you can express what you're feeling to without worry of judgment or consequence. And yes, to ask questions, to dig a little deeper into what it is that's bringing about your apparent anxiety."

Scowling, he crosses his arms across his chest defensively. "Anxiety?"

"You seem clearly anxious to me. You are unable to sit still and unless you're speaking to me in a threatening tone, you're avoiding eye contact."

Clenching his jaw, Seeley slowly raises his eyes to meet the therapist's. "Okay?"

Sweets nods, repeating his last question. "You believe this man's death resulted due to your lack of focus?"

"I don't _believe, _Sweets, I _know._"

"And why is that?"

He pauses, swallowing thickly. "Because when the hostage turned to look at me, I saw someone else, okay? For a minute I saw someone else and it distracted me."

He doesn't get the reaction he was hoping for. He'd expected to see a flash of something, a sign that the psychiatrist thought less of him, that he doubted his abilities and thought him weak.

Instead, Sweets remains calm, his features relaxed, and he simply nods. "A person you were unable to save previously?"

"No," he says quietly. "A person I _did_ save. But a person that I was almost too late to save."

Sweets nods again, his voice calm. "A person who means something to you?"

"A person who means _everything_ to me," he blurts out without warning, without thinking.

The look in the kid's eyes tells him he knows immediately whom it is he's referring to. "Your partner."

Seeley closes his eyes for a moment. "Yes," he says quietly.

"Have you told her?"

His eyes snap open, incredulous. "You want me to tell her that because I got distracted and pictured her in that moment I got a man killed? You want me to _burden_ her with that??" He sits up straight, his shoulders squared. "Not gonna happen."

"You don't trust her with that information?"

"Trust?? It's not about _trust_. It's about whether or not I'm willing to put that on her shoulders! Which, by the way, I am _not_."

"You're very protective of Dr. Brennan, aren't you?"

He narrows his eyes. "She's my partner."

"Yes, but you seem unwilling to think that she could be some sort of support for you, that she might be able to do the same thing in return."

"I don't need protecting," he snaps.

"But you might need someone to talk to –"

"That's why I'm _here_, Sweets. It's certainly not just because I enjoy a chat every now and again."

Seemingly unaffected by his insults, Sweets lets out a sigh. "Agent Booth, I've been observing you and Dr. Brennan for several months now. And it's obvious to any observer how close the two of you are, how symbiotic your partnership is. But, if I may, I would like to mention that you seem overly protective of your partner."

He grits his teeth at the therapist's words. "She's had a lot of people disappoint her, starting back to when she was a kid," he mutters. "I won't be one of them."

"And you think by withholding how you're feeling about something this important from her you're accomplishing that?"

He puffs out his cheeks, irritated. "This isn't her burden to...it's not her problem," he repeats.

"Agent Booth, I understand your reservations, and that you worry about her feeling guilt over the situation as well. But she's your partner – partnerships exist for a reason."

"Look, she looks at the bones, I chase the bad guy, alright?" he snaps. "That's why we're partners."

"So what she is to you is a woman you work with, a woman who helps you with your job."

"She's my best friend," he shoots back. "So no, she's not just someone I work with. But this was _my _mistake. This is my problem!" he insists.

"So why did you come to speak with me, if you feel you can handle this all on your own?"

He closes his eyes again, counting to three, praying for patience. But when he opens his eyes, he sees only concern in the kid's eyes.

"Because I'm having nightmares," he admits. "And last time I had an… issue with one of my cases, I talked to Dr. Wyatt about it and I was able to… get back to work."

"And your partner –"

"I'm not dragging her into this!" he shouts. "God, do you not understand? I'm not going to put this on her!"

"Agent Booth, with all due respect," Sweets says quietly. "Dr. Brennan is a grown woman, not a little girl anymore. And she deals with a lot of the same pressures and fears that you do in your partnership. Whether or not you feel you can share this particular piece of information with her is up to you, but I feel that your desire to protect her might actually be detrimental to your relationship."

"You know nothing of our relationship," he spits out.

Sweets suddenly fixes his eyes on Seeley's, and he sees that isn't true. The man can see through his outburst and his bluster, and part of him has known that since the first session he had with Bones. But it irks him, this idea that someone can see what he so desperately tries to hide, and he feels his temper rising.

"Where is your partner at the moment?" Sweets asks him calmly.

_In my bed,_ he thinks. "I have no idea, Sweets, I don't keep a collar on her."

The therapist sighs, reaching for his appointment book. "I have an appointment that is arriving in a few minutes, Agent Booth. If you are unwilling to discuss these issues in our group session tomorrow , then I suggest we –-"

He leaps to his feet. "We are _not_ discussing this tomorrow, you understand me? In fact, we're not discussing anything tomorrow – reschedule us."

Sweets raises his eyebrows. "Reschedule the session with you and Dr. Brennan?"

"That's what I said."

"Your sessions are required by the bureau until I say otherwise, Agent Booth. And you –"

"Look, I'll come talk to you again, alright? But we're not bringing this up with Bones."

Flipping pages in his calendar, Sweets nods. "That's fine. But your session with Dr. Brennan does not have to –"

"We have a case," he says quickly. "Tomorrow won't work well, anyway. I'm not canceling, I'm asking you to reschedule," he says firmly, trying to hide the panic he feels at sitting in this office with Bones next to him. One look, and Sweets will know the whole story -- he's convinced of it.

Sighing in defeat, Sweets sets down his pen. "Alright. As long as you promise to see me later in the week and bring Dr. Brennan again with you on Monday."

"Fine," he agrees quickly, not caring whether or not he'll actually keep his promise. Heading towards the door, he says, "I'll call to schedule times."

"Agent Booth."

He turns slowly, his hand already on the door handle. "What?"

"Your partner cares for you deeply, that much is evident. The definition of a partnership is one that describes mutual cooperation and responsibility. It shouldn't be something you feel you need to carry on your own." He pauses. "Let her be there for you."

Tightening his jaw, Seeley turns, pulling the door closed behind him.

**xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxxoxoxoxoxoxxoxo**

Her car is still in the lot when he returns to his apartment, and he tenses. He'd assumed she'd be gone by now, showered and off to the Jeffersonian to start her work on the remains. A glance at he clock on his dashboard says it is already almost ten a.m. – that she's here shocks him.

Slipping his key into his front door, he takes a deep breath and pushes it open. Dropping his keys on the table, he head immediately swiveling in the direction of his bedroom. Shrugging off his suit coat, he tosses it on a chair, heading in that direction.

"Booth."

He freezes, turning slowly, and he finds her tucked up on his couch, her hair damp from a shower, wearing another one of his large sweatshirts and a pair of his socks.

"Hi," he croaks.

She sets the folder she's holding next to her bag, and he realizes she's been working. Standing up, her eyes meet his, concerned. "Where did you go?"

He pauses, not wanting to lie to her. "I had to meet with someone at the bureau," he murmurs. "Regarding the… incident last week."

She nods, walking towards him, and he unconsciously takes a step back from her. The sweatshirt she's wearing only comes mid thigh, and her legs are long and bare, distracting him immediately.

"I was worried about you," she says quietly.

His tongue snakes out to moisten his lower lip quickly. "You were? Why?"

She raises an eyebrow, pausing in her way over to him. "Are you joking?"

He shakes his head, turning and heading towards the kitchen, feeling the need to escape. "No. You shouldn't have worried, I'm fine."

He's surprised when her fingers wrap tightly around his upper arm, and her strength catches him off guard as well as she spins him around, pushing him into the door of the refrigerator. "Fine? You aren't fine. _Things_ are not fine."

He doesn't speak, and her eyes flash, a look he's become quite familiar with over the years – she's pissed.

Shaking her head, keeping him pinned against the appliance, she sighs. "You're fine," she mutters. "We… we had sex, Booth. Numerous times, in fact. And, actually, that's only the half of it, right? Because it started last week when I found you upset over what happened –"

"Would you stop bringing that up?" he shouts, trying to push her off.

"No!" she snaps back. "No, I will not, because --"

"It doesn't concern you, Bones!"

"It does," she insists. "I'm your partner –"

"It wasn't your case," he says coldly. "You weren't here, you weren't a part of it. It was _my _mistake, _my suspect, _got it? _Not yours._ You were in Peru, remember?"

"That doesn't matter," she argues, shaking her head. "We're still supposed to –"

"What, share our feelings?" he snarks. "Oh, you just _love_ to do that, don't you? Sure, let's share feelings."

She pushes him back into the refrigerator again. "I don't know what it is that made you decide that you don't have to be honest with me anymore –"

"I haven't lied to you!" he shouts back at her. "I haven't –"

"You're lying to me right now!" she says incredulously. "To my face! Things are not _fine_, Seeley. Not even close."

Now there are tears in her eyes, and his chest clutches, his breathing heavy from the argument. "Bones."

She lets go of him suddenly, turning around, presenting him with her back and he starts to shake. "I'm not stupid, Booth. I may be lousy at reading people, but I'm not lousy at reading you. And I know when you're keeping something from me." She sighs, her voice shrinking. "You never used to do that."

He swallows. "I just want to forget about it, alright? And you keep wanting to talk about it."

She spins around again, her eyes blazing, her hair curling around her face. "You had a nightmare last night, one that woke you up shouting and crying." She considers this for a moment. "Is that common for you?"

He drops his eyes, chewing on the inside of his cheek. How does he tell her? How does he explain that even before what happened in the warehouse, he's haunted be the people he's killed, by the thoughts of their families.

"Don't lie to me," she whispers fiercely.

He raises his eyes to hers, his own shimmering. "Yes," he says simply.

She lets out a shuddering breath, stepping towards him, but when she reaches out a hand towards his face, he snaps his own up, his fingers curling around his wrist. "Don't."

She freezes. "Don't what?"

"Don't… look at me like that," he says slowly, his eyes narrowing.

"How am I looking at you?" she whispers.

"Like… like you're _sorry_ for me," he spits out.

She squares her shoulders at his tone. "I _am _sorry for you. That's not the same as pity, Booth."

He's silent, his heart pounding, and she suddenly looks angry again, and yanks her wrist free from him, taking a step back.

"I want to know," she says, her voice shaking with fury, "why it's okay for you to demand that I lean on you, share with you, but I can't expect the same."

He looks away from her, closing his eyes.

"I've shared with you over and over about my family and my past – I've come to you when I was hurting and I was honest with you," she charges. "And now, all I want is a little honesty and you won't give me any."

"It's not the same," he snaps.

"No, it's _not,_" she shoots back. "It's not, because it's _you_, not me. But clearly you don't trust me enough to tell me what it is that's eating you up inside –"

"It's not about _trust_!" he roars suddenly, and she jumps. "Okay, Temperance! That's not what it is!"

She crosses her arms across her chest, as if she's protecting herself from him, and his heart aches at the gesture.

"Yes, it is," she says quietly. "I know you! Even though you're the one who reads people, who understands and believes in psychology, I still know you. And whatever it is that's bothering you, you won't trust me with it." She steps closer. "You'll take me to bed, but you won't even talk to me."

"That shouldn't have happened," he says quietly.

She steps back again from him as if she's been slapped, and he swallows. "What?" she whispers.

"We shouldn't have crossed that line," he says tensely. "That's my fault, too."

"Too? What do you mean, _too?_" she exclaims. "What else is your fault?"

"We went too far!" he tells her, this time being the one to step towards her. "We weren't supposed to touch each other, to be this to one another!"

"And what _are_ we?"

He freezes at her words, his heart skipping beneath his breastbone. "Partners," he chokes out.

Her eyes mist, and she crosses hugs herself more tightly. "You're such a liar."

They just stand there, their eyes locked, unspeaking, and he wants so badly to hold her, to pull her into his arms and tell her that he loves her, that he wants only to protect her, to never hurt her again. But he doesn't. Because he worries that she doesn't feel the same way; that she doesn't love him enough to see who he really is.

He finally takes a step towards her and her phone shrills from the living room. Wiping a tear that suddenly escapes and slips down her cheek, she turns from him. "That's probably the lab, wondering where we are," she mutters. "I need to go change and go in."

He nods, his hands falling to his hips.

She turns to him again, her jaw set, and he sees her determination, and it stops him in his tracks. "This isn't done," she says quietly.

He watches her disappear into the living room, hears the muffled sound of her answer and he lets out a shaking breath, reaching for the countertop. No, it certainly wasn't done.


	9. Chapter 9

_**oy. i seem to be stretching out the angst longer than i'd intended, but this is sort of a montster that's growing on its own. still, hopefully there's progression with this chapter. as a great mind has said about booth in this story: "poor, guilty baby." i can't help it, i'm a sucker for angsty booth. i really hope the show utilizes his past and his issues in the future, because it's so fascinating. i'm just hitting the tip of the iceberg, i think. **_

_**so hang on, dear readers. i know this is my first fic with this fanbase, but i swear, i'm a lover of fluff at heart. xoxo mia**_

**Chapter nine.**

The snow that had fallen the night before has turned to an icy rain, mixing in the streets of D.C. to form a slush that slaps against the side of cars. Tucked outside the back door off the east side of her lab, Temperance stands under an overhang, her breath appearing in clouds in front of her.

She holds herself tightly, but it is against the cold, not because she is frightened. She's too furious to be frightened.

She's waiting for Zach to complete a bone density scan, and Booth is in her office, furiously flipping through paperwork and answering his phone every few moments on her couch. She's so irritated; she finds she can't even look at him. So now she's retreated to the cold, sucking in the fresh air and trying to process the last seventy-two hours.

She isn't sure if her concern outweighs her anger at the moment. The fact that he's holding out on her isn't even a question – she knows it with a certainty she's rarely accustomed to when dealing with other people and their emotions.

But what she doesn't know is why… and it's driving her insane. She gets the distinct impression he thinks he's protecting her, but she doesn't _need_ protection – she's not a child. Which means that it _is_ about trust. He doesn't trust that she can handle what it is, and that makes her furious. She acknowledges that Booth is more skilled than her when it comes to emotions and understanding human nature. But it burns her to have him shut her out in this manner. She's never stonewalled him so thoroughly, never refused him access to her feelings, even when she was unsure how he would receive them.

She finds herself focusing on her anger, feeding it. Because when she allows herself to step back, all she can see is him above her, gasping, calling out to her. Even now, standing in the chilling rain, she's suddenly flushed at the thought. And even though she's furious, she wants him again. Desperately. When she'd stopped by her desk, glancing at him on the couch, his brow had furrowed while he made notes, and her stomach had flipped over. She'd wanted to yank the files from his lap and shove his suit coat from his shoulders. She wanted him to kiss her again, to take it back, what he'd say about this having been a mistake.

Because as much as it frightens her, making love with Seeley Booth has been the most erotic, emotional, sensual thing she's ever experienced. She doesn't want it to be a mistake. A mistake is considered to be an error or fault resulting from defective judgment, deficient knowledge, or carelessness. Nothing about last night had felt like that to her – it had felt safe, it had felt… as if, for the first time, she fit. That she fit well with another person, that she complemented someone outside of the scope of her job, of her expertise. It had felt instinctual. She hadn't had to try, hadn't had to work at it to have it happen. And when he'd looked at her, when he'd held her, she had allowed herself to wonder if he even loved her.

She doesn't know how to play games, doesn't know how to do this dance. In her experiences, she's learned to fight for what she wants -- to persevere until she receives the truth. But something gnaws at her, a small voice deep inside that tells her that her normal methods for uncovering the truth might not work in a case such as this.

"Bones."

She spins around at the sound of his voice, her arms attempting to shield herself from him as well as the cold.

"What?"

His face is solemn, his eyes grave. "Angela has an ID on the first body."

She nods slowly, and she sees his eyes drift to her thin shirt, concern evident on his face. "It's freezing out here. Why aren't you wearing a coat?"

"It's raining, therefore indicating that the temperature is in fact above freezing."

He sighs, shrugging off his jacket and moving to put it around her shoulders, and while her mind protests such a chivalrous gesture, her heart does not. She wonders if her response would have been the same a week ago, before she knew what it was like to kiss him, to curl next to him underneath tangled sheets. She wishes they were there now – things are so much simpler when they aren't speaking. She can just let go, she can try and understand later.

"I want to go speak with the parents," he says quietly, tucking the coat around her. "Are you going to come?"

She meets his eyes, feeling a challenging tone creep into her voice, not letting him off the hook. "Are you asking me to come?"

He looks surprised by her tone. "Don't I always?"

She sets her jaw, studying him. He seems conflicted, seems to swing back and forth if on a pendulum while he's around her. His tenderness, like now, unnerves her, reminds her of the way his hands feel on her skin, the way his mouth feels against her own.

The same mouth that had clamped closed a few hours ago, refusing to share with her what he's feeling.

She wants to assume that his coldness and anger stems from more than simple rejection. She knows that the death of the hostage is something he feels responsible for. He doesn't take the loss of a life lightly, even when the person who's died has committed atrocities that he's hunted them for.

He claims the death is not the issue, but she knows better. His nightmare, though unclear to her, has at least explained how deeply his guilt has manifested. When he'd awoken, he'd gasped her name, startling her, and it seems tangled in with his rejection of her. It only confuses her further.

She pauses for a moment, considering this. When they'd left his apartment last night to go to the crime scene, she'd kissed him. And despite the fact that he'd been hanging back, seemed nervous to come near her, he'd kissed her back – passionately. Examining the information she's gathered as if it's evidence, she comes swiftly to the conclusion that he has a difficult time keeping his distance if she touches him.

As with any scientific theory, the hypothesis must be tested. Ignoring his question, she steps closer, and his brow furrows slightly.

"Bones? Do you want to stay in the lab or come with me?"

"I'm cold," she says quietly, tucking her body into his, and his arms seem to instinctually come around her, although she can feel him stiffen.

"Well, you're out here with no coat on and it's about 40 degrees," he mutters.

She's not one to be coy, but she's unsure of how else to understand this. What does he want?

She wraps her arms around his waist, embracing him, and he takes a step back, bringing her with him so they are further tucked into the alcove surrounding the door. "If you're cold, we should go inside – we need to go talk to these people," he says stiffly.

She nods, pressing her face to his chest, breathing in his scent. Even in the few hours since he's pulled himself from his bed next to her, she's missed it, longed for it.

"Why do you call me Bones?" she asks quietly.

He's silent for a moment. "What do you mean, 'why'? It's a nickname. You work with bones."

She sighs. "I know that. What made you decide to call me that in the first place? Besides the fairly obvious reason you stated."

He lets out a slow breath. "To annoy you," he says quietly.

"Why?"

He leans against the wall next to the door slightly, supporting them, his arms holding her despite his initial reluctance. "Because you annoyed me," he responds. "I wanted to annoy you back."

"I annoyed you?" she asks quietly.

He pauses for a moment. "Yes." He shifts slightly, and she feels him shivers slightly from the cold, giving her a flash of guilt. She has his jacket.

She's about to ask him why again, but he continues on his own, his voice slightly dreamy in his memory.

"You barely looked at me when we were introduced, as if I was keeping you from something far more important. And when you finally did make eye contact, your eyes were so cool and unimpressed, as if you had decided I would be of no use to you before we'd even met." He sighs. "It made me want to get under your skin, get you riled up. And the nickname worked – you hated it. Then it just stuck, I suppose."

She presses her nose into his shirt. "I didn't hate it."

He's quiet for a moment. "No?"

She shakes her head, lifting her chin to meet his eyes. "No."

For a moment, the defense seems to lift from him, his eyes softening, and she can't help but stand on her tiptoes, brushing her lips over his.

His grip on her waist tightens, but he pulls back. "Bones," he says quietly. "This isn't the –"

She kisses him again, her hand sliding up to cup the back of his head, and her hypothesis is proven. He dips his head down, pulling her into an altogether different kiss, a kiss that tells her she's been on his mind as much as he's been on hers.

His nose is cold against hers but his lips are incredibly warm. They remind her of his body, the way it feels against her own.

She slips her tongue over his lower lip and he grabs it from her, sucking it into his own mouth, dragging his hands into her hair. Heat instantly pools in her belly, and she wants to forget about sad parents and skeletal remains and bone density. She just wants him to take her to bed.

It scares her, this switch. She wants to leave her usual retreat, her place of reason and knowledge; to find comfort with him.

He pulls back from her for a moment, trying to catch his breath. "God, Why can't I just…" His voice trails off, his mouth dropping to press a kiss to the side of her jaw, moving lower to open against her neck.

She pulls him back to her mouth, wanting to taste him again, and he moans as she kisses him deeply, and tugs her closer against him.

The sky suddenly opens up, rain pouring down harder, and it's enough to pull them back, to bring them down to earth. He wraps his hand around her wrist where it presses against his face, and she drops her head against his shoulder, taking a deep breath. "I'll come with you," she says quietly.

He doesn't answer her. He simply waltzes one step so that she's closer to the door and guides her through, and the warmth that rushes in with their entrance stings the cold skin of her cheeks.

**xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo**

It happens in the parking garage. One moment, she's stepping out of the elevator towards the car, the next he's shouting her name, screaming at her over the roar of an engine to get out of the way. She sees only a flash of light and panic in his eyes when she turns, and then his body hits hers hard, and they tumble across the cement, her head smacking the pavement hard.

She can hear the squeal of tires, and feel his breath against her cheek, harsh and quick. He only pauses for an instant before he is up again, tugging her desperately to her feet.

"Shit!" he curses, pressing her back towards the elevator, tugging his gun from its holster. "Stay here!"

Her head is ringing, and she watches as he races around the corner, but she knows it's too late. The car is already gone.

Closing her eyes, she lets her back fall against the wall, supporting her. She raises a shaky hand to the back of her head, and it comes away damp – she's got a small cut and it's bleeding.

He's back beside her in an instant, his phone open in one hand. When he sees the red staining on her hands his eyes widen and he flips the phone shut, grasping for her. "Where are you bleeding?"

"It's just a small cut on the back of my head," she mutters. "I'm fine."

He doesn't speak, and when she looks up at him, she sees he's rigid with fury, his eyes sharp and piercing. Tugging her towards his car, he shoves her inside the passenger seat, slamming the door, his phone already to his ear as he makes his way around to the driver's side.

"Booth –" she says as he jumps up into the SUV. "I'm fine."

But he's already barking orders to the voice on the other end of the line as he pulls the car out of the parking space. She knows he's driving towards the hospital, and she reaches across the seat, setting her hand on his thigh, trying to get his attention.

"I just need some antiseptic," she promises. "I don't even need stitches. It's nothing, I promise."

He glances at her, his eyes wary, his face unconvinced, the phone still to his ear.

"You can look yourself," she says. "It's already almost done bleeding."

He turns back to the road for a moment, speaking into his phone. "I want two men on her building, another two men on the lab, you got that? And I want videotape of every car that's been in and out of that parking garage, understand?"

When he flips the phone shut, he grits his teeth, taking a deep breath, and she rubs her hand gently over his leg, trying to soothe him. "It's alright."

"Someone tried to mow you down in the garage," he says, his voice strained.

The windshield wipers whisk the rain from the glass, and she sighs. "I have gauze and disinfectant at my apartment. Just take me there."

He doesn't respond to her request, but she notices he turns west, in the direction of her house, and she feels a sense of relief.

**xoxoxoxoxxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxxoxoxoxoxoxoxox**

She winces as he presses the antiseptic-soaked cotton to her injury, her fingers winding around the edge of the bathroom sink.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly.

"It's not your fault," she says quickly, glancing at his reflection in the mirror.

His face says otherwise, and she suddenly spins around, out of his grasp.

"Hey!" he snaps. "I wasn't done, hold still!"

It's her turn to wrap her hand around his wrist, holding him steady. "This wasn't your fault," she repeats.

He doesn't answer, pulling free from her and dropping the cotton square in her trash.

At his reaction, she feels her blood on the verge of boiling yet again. "You can't protect me from everything at all times!" she explodes. "You're not flying through the air with a cape, Booth, you're not Spiderman!"

There's almost a hint of a smile at the edge of his mouth, despite his eyes remaining grave. "Superman."

"Whatever," she hisses, stepping around him and stomping out of the bathroom. "We didn't even know anyone was upset with me, alright?" She paues. "it could have been an accident."

"It was _not_ an accident."

She stalks down the hallway, her face flushing red with her frustration.

He follows her, his amusement obviously having disappeared as well. "Bones, you entered into a partnership with me that involves catching killers. Since we started working together, how many times has your life been put at risk –"

She whirls around, her eyes incredulous. "My life is at stake because of what I _do_, not because I do it with you!" she says, shaking her head. She almost wants to laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation – he's never been this irrational.

"Listen to me," he says, gripping her arms tightly. "Maybe we both have to realize this isn't safe for you anymore, that I can't protect you."

"What??"

"Bones –"

He's crossed the line, and she's finally had it. Pulling free from him, she presses her hands squarely against his chest and shoves him onto the couch, catching him off guard as he drops onto the cushions.

"Now you listen to me," she says, gritting her teeth. "Whatever it is that's going on with you that you refuse to talk to me about, it's getting out of hand. Because I will not have you _stand _here and tell me that our partnership isn't going to work or that I'm not going to be able to do my job anymore because you're questioning your abilities as a man."

"Hey!" he snaps, shooting off the couch. "I am _not_ questioning my abilities as a man!"

She shoves him back down, and again he falls, surprised by her actions, but she's just so furious. And hurt, she realizes. She's hurt that he won't share with her, that he doesn't trust her.

"You don't get to be alpha male, deciding what I do and don't do. And you don't scare me, Booth! You can shout at me all you want, but I'm not going to just let you run the show! You won't even share with me how you really feel about what happened last week, about what it is that you're dreaming about that has you waking up so terrified!"

His eyes darken, and she sees his shoulders tense.

"Why is that?" she asks quietly, stepping in front of him, standing between his knees. "You think I can't understand? That I'm too emotionally cut off, that I'm too much of a child in that way – that I don't understand people enough to be of any help to you?"

Despite her anger, she feels tears welling up in her eyes, and she swipes at them as they start to spill. "I'm still learning, but I'm trying," she says more quietly. "And I _care_ about you – you're my partner and my friend. And I hate to see you like this, and I hate that you're pushing me away."

He swallows, his eyes changing at her words, and he brings his hands up to her hips. "Bones…"

Temperance isn't a gambler. She relies on facts and evidence to make informed decisions, but for some reason, she suddenly hears her gut speaking to her, and so she does just that – she gambles.

His eyes widen as she drops down, straddling his lap. His hands instantly grip her waist. "Bones –"

She cups his face in her hands, and he tenses immediately, but she doesn't back down. Stroking her thumb along his cheek, she meets his eyes, and she suddenly sees how afraid he is.

"Seeley," she says quietly. "Tell me, tell me what's wrong."

He drops his eyes, shaking his head. "Bones, please."

"Please what?' she asks. "Please let you hide; please let you bully me and push me out of this partnership because you can't admit what's going on? Please let you doubt yourself and torture yourself?" Another tear slips down her cheek. "You've been tortured enough, Seeley."

He snaps his eyes back to hers at her words, at her mention of the war, and his own eyes are suddenly shimmering. She sees how much it hurts to remember, to let it out, but she remembers feeling the same way when her father reappeared, when her brother showed up in town. And Booth hadn't let her hide from either of them – he'd forced her to face her ghosts.

He still hasn't relaxed, but she keeps it up, her fingers trailing gently over his jaw. He seems to react differently when she's touching him, to be less guarded. And she finds she wants to touch him herself, to feel his warmth. Because she's cold when he steps away from her, and she hates to be cold.

Her other hand clutches his tie, and she slides her hand to his chin, forcing him to look at her. "What did you dream about?" she whispers.

He clenches his eyes shut immediately, a tear leaking from them and sliding down his face, and she feels a wash of guilt, but knows this is necessary. He needs to let it out – he's the one who taught her that.

"You said you killed me," she says gently.

He sucks in a sharp breath, his eyes still clamped shut, and she feels a sharp pain beneath her ribcage at this sight of him like this.

"God, I can't, I can't do this," he moans, shaking his head as much as her hand will allow. "Please, Bones."

She rubs her thumb over his bottom lip and he shudders. "Tell me what you saw, Booth."

"I can't!" he gasps, his eyes opening, his head trying to pull from her hands, to escape her. "Temperance, just trust me on this, okay?"

"I do trust you," she says quietly. "Prove you trust me, too."

His hands fall to her hips again and he suddenly surges upwards, lifting her off of him and pinning her to the couch, trying to run from her. She grabs onto him, keeping him trapped above her.

"Do you want to push me away?" she demands. "Is that it? After what we did, you realize you don't want this, you don't want me?"

His eyes close again, and his fingers curl into her arm. "Bones."

Her mouth wobbles, and she grabs the front of his shirt, pulling him closer. "I asked you to show me," she whispers. "I wanted to know what I was missing."

"I know that," he says quietly, his voice ragged.

"I don't think you understand," she manages, her heart pounding. She feels a rushing between her ears, feels her pulse elevate as she considers admitting to him what she's kept safely tucked inside.

He meets her eyes then, and she sees how lost he is; how as the anchor for others, he is finding only the sandy, uneven floor of the ocean to cling to himself. But if she tells him this… he'll know. He'll know it was more than just curiosity that took her to bed with him.

She opens her mouth, hesitating, but then she lets her hand press against his chest, feels his own heartbeat underneath her palm and realizes she'll do anything not to lose him. He's slipping from her, slipping so quickly, and she needs him.

She lets her eyes flicker back to his. "I wanted to know what I was missing with you." She feels the tears well up again in her eyes. "Only you."

He sucks in a sharp breath, his chest heaving above her.

Because she's admitted more about how she feels to him than she ever has before, she's overwhelmed. Her goal had been to get him to talk to her, but now she doesn't want to talk. She's scared herself, suddenly. Now she wants the escape.

So she kisses him.

He lets out a deep moan, finally dropping his body fully against hers amongst the pillows. She gaps as his tongue fills her mouth, as his large hands cup her face, and she can taste salt and doesn't know if the tears belong to him or if they belong to her.

**i heart feedback... ;)**


	10. Chapter 10

_**so... the angst continues a bit longer, but i think this chapter signals a kind of swing in a good direction. so i hope you guys like it. i was thinking about booth, trying to decide if this much stubbornness was in character. and then i realized... he RARELY talks about his past or how he's feeling. he talks about parker, and that's about it. he's supportive and loving and a wonderful listener, but he doesn't really accept help very well. so hopefully i'm not too far off. :)**_

_**oh, also... as far as the case they're working on in this fic -- it's not that important. it's got details to make their interactions seem more realistic, but, frankly, i'm waaay too distracted by my life to come up with a legitimately mysterious case... lame, i know. but it's just not the point... :) **__**xoxo mia**_

**Chapter ten.**

His hand has just slipped under the edge of her shirt when a fist pounds on the door, causing them both to fly back at least a foot. It's only a matter of seconds before he shoves her behind him, and his breath catches as he reaches for his gun.

Turning towards her, he presses his finger to his lips, silencing her, and she nods slowly. "The deadbolt is locked," she mouths.

He pushes her back a few more feet behind him, moving slowly towards the door when the fist bangs again.

"Booth!" a voice booms from the hallway. "You in there?"

Sighing, he lowers his weapon, flipping back the bolt, and when he opens the door, an agent is on the other side.

"I thought you were going to call," he grouses.

Agent Morris shoulders his way past him, nodding to Temperance, who has stepped towards the couch.

"I was, but I wanted to show you this," he says, holding out a glossy eight by ten photo. "I know it's blurry, but do either of you recognize this man?"

Booth snatches the photo from the agent's hand, stepping towards Temperance. It's a quick shot of a dark green Toyota, and the windows are slightly tinted. The driver is turning his head at the exact moment the car passes past the camera, but there is a slight profile. Unfortunately, it's no one he can make out.

Temperance is shaking her head, glancing up at him. "He doesn't look familiar."

"What we can even see of him," Booth mutters, tossing the photo on the coffee table. "Any word on the vehicle? Plates?"

Morris shakes his head. "We ran the plates – the car's registered to an Alma Wilkins of Elkridge, Maryland. Reported stolen a week ago."

"Did you talk to Alma?" Booth asks tensely.

"Yup. She's seventy-two years old, drives once a week to the senior center and the grocery store." Morris puts his hands on his hips. "She has no idea when it even disappeared – she hadn't been in her garage in over four days when she reported it missing."

Sighing, Booth turns to look at Temperance. "Still think it was an accident?"

She doesn't respond, heading towards the kitchen, and he hears a teakettle clunk onto a burner.

Morris heads towards the door. "I'll call you if we get anything else. We talked to the security guard at the gate. He said he doesn't remember anyone coming into the garage since he's been on duty – which was six this morning. We're tracking down the person from the nightshift. So far from the tapes, we only see this guy exit – not enter. And he blew out the gate, too."

Thanking the agent, Booth lets him out, flipping the deadbolt again and running his hand through his hair. Fuck.

When he enters the kitchen, Temperance is on her phone, grabbing tea bags from a cabinet above the sink, and she doesn't notice him.

"Okay, I'll be there within the hour. Thanks, Zach."

Dropping her phone into her pocket, she tugs a tea bag free from the box, ripping it open.

"We're not going anywhere right now."

Swinging her head up to meet his eyes, he sees her expression and knows instantly she's going to fight him on this. "I have to go in. Zach's done with the bone density and found several abnormalities, including –"

"I said no."

Her nostrils flare, and she snatches up the teakettle as it beings to whistle, snapping off the burner. "You don't get to decide that."

"Yes, yes I do," he says quietly, his voice low. "It's my job to protect you. I'm not taking you back to the very location where someone attempted to kill you less than an hour ago."

"It's safe inside the lab!" she insists.

"I can't be sure of that," he snaps back. "Until we know more, we're staying put, Bones."

Pouring the steaming water into a travel mug, she shoots him a dirty look. "You're being irrational."

He gets in her face, his temper flaring. "Wanting to keep you alive is not irrational."

Jutting her chin out, she takes a step closer. "Keeping me prisoner in my own apartment is not the only way for me to be safe."

"Well, it's the way that I'm choosing," he tells her, their noses practically touching. "Like it or not; it doesn't matter to me."

"I have to see those bones, Booth!"

He clenches his jaw. "Then have Zach send you pictures, video, whatever the hell you want, I don't care. But you're not leaving the apartment until I say so!"

"You must be joking!"

He shrugs. "Do I look like I'm joking?"

She snaps her mug up from the counter, skirting around him. "You can be a stubborn bastard, you know that?"

His hands are still on his hips as she stomps from the kitchen, his eyes on the tile floor. He feels like a jerk, but part of him doesn't care. Whenever she looks at him with disappointment in her eyes, he feels a sharp pain in his chest, but this is too important. Being outside, being exposed to whoever it is that wants to hurt her… It's too much of a risk, a risk he's not willing to take.

When he finally makes his way out into the living room, she's not there. He can see her through the doorway and into her office, her laptop open on her desk, the phone once again pressed to her ear, and he sighs, dropping down into a chair. It's going to be a long night.

**xoxoxoxoxoxooxxoxoxoxooxoxoxoxoxoxoxooxoxox**

It's hours later before she emerges, the hands on the clock above her bookcase creeping towards ten o' clock. When she sees that he's reading one of her books, she frowns before walking past him back into the kitchen. Sighing, he tosses the book on the cushion next to him and follows her.

"I'm ordering something for dinner," she says quietly. "Do you want anything?"

He nods. He's shucked his suit jacket off and discarded his tie, and when he steps towards the sink to refill his water glass, he winces slightly, and her brow furrows lightly. She doesn't comment, but he sees a flash of concern on her face.

"What do you want?' she asks, tugging menus out of a drawer,

He shrugs. "It's up to you." Snapping off the faucet, he take a quick sip. "I'm just hungry."

She sneaks a guilty look at him. "You should have told me, I would have ordered something earlier."

"You were working."

"I'm always working," she mutters. "We still need to eat." She holds up a menu for a Costa Rican restaurant. "How's this?"

"Fine. Order me whatever," he says quietly. "You know what I like."

Nodding, she heads over to the phone, flipping open the menu, and he watches her silently from where he's leaning against the counter. She looks exhausted -- he can see the circles under her eyes. Temperance has never really seemed to know when to stop working, to know when to call it quits. She would accuse him of worrying too much if he were to say anything, but he doesn't think it's possible to be too concerned for her.

Hanging up, she turns to him, rubbing her hands on her thighs. "It'll be here in a half an hour." She shifts her weight awkwardly. Some of her anger seems to have dissipated, and awkwardness seems to have replaced it.

Tapping his fingers on the counter, he chews on his lower lip. "Did you figure anything out?"

She nods slowly, opening the refrigerator and pulling out two beers, offering one to him. "I believe the victim suffered from a disorder known as Osteogenesis imperfecta, or Lobstein disease, which is a defect in the amount of Type I collagen, an important part of the bone matrix." She pauses, spinning the cap off her bottle. "It would result in fragile bones, abnormal calcification... a triangular face structure. We may be able to trace her through a doctor."

He lets out a breath. "Nice work," he says quietly.

She nods. "Well, it would have taken less time in the lab, but..." She stops herself, clearly wanting to avoid the subject. "Well, it doesn't matter. Angela's going to see if she can get a match based on the face she's come up with and the condition we think the victim was suffering from." She takes a sip. "Hopefully we'll know something in the morning."

He just watches her, feeling slightly in limbo. He wants to say something, wants to make it better between them, but isn't sure how. Because he's not sorry for insisting they stay here, not sorry for trying to keep her safe.

He moves back to the sink, returning his empty glass, and she's watching him again, in that way that makes him very aware of her presence. Pausing, she walks past him. "Go sit on the couch for a minute."

Confused, he follows her out of the kitchen, but she's already heading towards her bathroom. "What for?"

"Just do it."

Sighing, he returns to his seat, sinking back into the pillows of the couch. He can hear the water of the bathtub rush on for a moment, and when she returns, she's holding a small plastic tub, and he sees steam escaping. When she gets closer, an citrus scent hits his nose.

Frowning, he raises his eyes to hers. "What's that?"

She sets it in front of him, kneeling down. "Your feet are bothering you. I thought you might want to soak them," she says matter-of-factly, reaching for his left foot.

Her jerks it back, out of her grasp. "What?"

"Your feet; they're bothering you," she repeats.

His eyes narrow slightly. "How on earth would you know that?"

Ignoring the fact that he's pulled away from her, she reaches for his foot again. "You're favoring them when you walk; you have since this morning."

Nervously, he watches her untie his shoe. "Bones…"

"It may be possible it's related to the drop in barometric pressure recently. Previously fractured bone discomfort isn't proven scientifically to relate to changes in weather and pressure, but several doctors specializing in chronic pain claim it's a possibility." She pulls his shoe off carefully, sliding her fingers up the edge of his pants to find the top of his sock. "I suppose it could be true."

"My feet are fine," he mutters defensively.

She looks up at him for a moment, peeling the sock free and dropping it on the floor. "This will help with the pain. It's just Epsom salts and a little orange and lemon oil."

Before he can even respond, she has his other shoe off and is guiding his feet into the warm water. He hates to admit it, but he feels instant relief. She was right that they'd been aching. It's something he's accustomed to, something he's learned to live with and generally ignores.

And of course she noticed. She always notices these kinds of details.

"Feel better?" she asks, still crouched in front of him.

He's about to respond when the buzzer of her apartment bleats loudly. Surprised, she lifts her head, glancing at the door. "That was fast."

He goes to pull his feet from the water. "Bones, wait."

She walks towards her purse. "I'll check first, just stay put."

"Don't open the door without –"

She already has her face pressed to the peephole. "I recognize the delivery guy," she calls. "Okay?"

Despite her words, he's on edge before she returns to the living room, setting the bags on the coffee table. "Let me just get some silverware."

He pulls one foot from the tub and she points a finger at him. "Don't you dare move."

Sighing, he drops he slides his toes back under the water. And she has the nerve to call _him_ stubborn.

After she returns she hands him his food -- a spicy rice and beans mixture with chicken and coconut milk. Taking a bite, he sneaks another look at her as she opens her own dinner.

He feels awkward, uncomfortable in front of her like this – exposed. And while a part of him is touched that she noticed and wanted to help, he hates feeling vulnerable…particularly in front of her. He's supposed to be the one taking care of her, not the other way around.

"This is good," he says quietly. "Did I get this last time?"

She shakes her head. "You got this," she says, holding up her own meal. "I figured we could switch half-way if you want."

They eat quietly for a few minutes, passing the food back and forth a few times. When he shifts slightly, the water slides around in the tub. Glancing down at his feet for a moment, she lifts her head and their eyes meet.

"You never talk about it," she says quietly.

He sets his plate aside, sighing. "There's nothing to tell, Bones. You know what happened; you saw the x-rays."

She's silent for a moment. "I know what happened to the bones, yes. I understand the concept of falaka, and the damage it does to the feet. But as far as what actually happened to you, to knowing the details --"

"You don't want the details," he says stiffly.

"Why won't you tell me how it felt –"

"It felt _painful,_ alright?" he says sharply, cutting her off. "It hurt worse than anything I've ever experienced. That's the point, Bones. They want to break you, to make you give up, to lose all hope and tell them what they want." He yanks his feet from the tub, the water now growing cold.

"Talking about it might –'

"Talking about it makes me remember!" he barks. "Okay? And I don't _want_ to remember how that felt. Because I almost _did _give up! I was _this_ close to giving them everything they wanted, to failing. I was ready to do anything to make it stop." He sucks in a breath. "They did it over and over, for days and days and days, Temperance! Alright?? It hurt like a son of a bitch, and I didn't think I'd ever get out of there, that it would ever stop."

He stands up quickly, unsure of where he's going but feeling the need to escape. He's never shared that experience with anyone. His superiors while in the service had known from the damage what had happened, and he'd only confirmed, never explained – and he'd been grateful for that.

He's shaking as she steps in front of him, blocking his path. "I don't think you're weak," she says quickly, setting her hand on his arm.

He ignores her comment, his voice low, laced with warning when he speaks to her. "Bones, please just let me –"

"Don't walk away from me," she says firmly but gently. "Please, Booth. Sit down."

He doesn't sit, but he stops trying to make his way around her. "Stop pushing, Temperance."

He's surprised when her face flushes red, her eyes widening with her anger. "Fine! What I want to know is, why is it that I'm supposed to share things that are painful with you, to let them out, but you don't need to do the same?"

He doesn't answer, clenching his jaw, knowing he's being a hypocrite.

"You told me that's what partners do, Booth," she says tightly. "You said that's how you build trust. And I've shared things with you that were painful, that I never wanted to think about again. Because _you_ asked me to – because you made me feel I could."

Her eyes glisten, and he feels guilt piling on him, the weight causing his shoulders to sag. "Bones –"

"Can I not do that for you?" she whispers. "Am I not able to offer that same reassurance?"

He covers his face with his hands, rubbing his cheeks, frustrated. "That's not it, alright? The situations are different."

"How?"

"God, do you have to challenge everything I ever –"

"I'm _asking_ you," she says quietly. "I don't understand…why is it different?"

He sighs, finally dropping back onto the couch wearily, carefully avoiding the tub of water. "Because there was something to gain from your situation," he finally says. "Your father was back in your life, your brother was here. They're your family, Bones, and they wanted you to try forgive them. And to do that, you needed to face what happened, to let it out."

She sits next to him gingerly, her eyes meeting his. "Don't you think it's equally as important that you forgive yourself?"

He turns his head, avoiding her gaze. "What are you talking about?" he mumbles.

"You mentioned that you almost gave in when they were torturing you," she says bluntly, and he flinches at the word as it leaves her lips. "To me, that implies guilt, that you feel you failed in some way, even when you were brave and you survived."

He grits his teeth. "I think I liked you better when you hated psychology."

She ignores his comment as if it never even left his mouth. "Booth, when someone's badly burned they have to remove the dead skin," she says slowly. "Did you know that?"

He swings his head towards her. "What does this have to do with me?" he asks warily.

"The process of debraiding is very painful."

"What's debraiding?" he asks cautiously.

"It's scraping off the burned flesh," she says quietly. "Often with a brush."

He feels his stomach flip at her words, feeling slightly nauseous. "So?"

"So it's extremely painful," she repeats. "But it's necessary for the new skin to grow, to avoid scarring. Because the new skin needs air to breathe; the body needs to go through that process to heal." She touches his arm gently. "I'm starting to think that it applies to more than just burns."

Having Temperance in front of him making analogies that relate to psychology is throwing him severely. He's used to arguing with her over logic, over scientific evidence. Now it's as if she's attacking him with his own ammunition.

"Well, now you know," he says quietly. "I told you what happened, alright?"

She turns his hand over in her own, her fingers lightly tracing his palm. "Thank you," she says quietly. She meets his eyes, and he sees the concern in them, making his heartbeat with a heavy rhythm. "It wasn't to make us even, why I wanted to know, Booth."

He just looks at her, remaining silent.

"It's because even though it hurt like hell to tell you about Russ leaving, about my parents disappearing… it did help. I didn't realize it at first, but it did. And you did that for me. I never would have talked about it if it weren't for you. I never would have gone to see my dad in prison, I never would have given Russ another chance."

He sighs, leaning back on the sofa. "I think you would have."

She shakes her head. "No." She chews on her lip, and for a moment she looks lost in her own world. "As long as I kept it in, the anger was just mine. Keeping it inside, I think it acts the same way pressure does in a vessel."

He closes his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. Slowly, surely, his muscles were starting to relax at the slow and steady stroke of her fingers. He doesn't feel better, exactly, but his body feels… quieter.

She continues speaking softly, and he realizes that somewhere, throughout their partnership, her scientific justifications for things have become something that he finds oddly soothing.

"If whatever is inside the vessel is expanding and growing and has no way to escape, the pressure increases," she explains. "But if you release it…" She tightens her fingers in her hand. "The universe always seeks equilibrium, Booth. It might not achieve it, but it's constantly trying, constantly striving for that sense of balance. Maybe we should, too."

He's amazed by her words. In only a few years, Temperance Brennan has been re-formed. It's not change, exactly – it's taking what she's always had and shifting it, moving it around inside and making new connections. It's incredible to witness -- he just wishes it wasn't related to his own guilt.

She shifts closer, holding his hand in her lap. "Which is why you should tell me about what happened with the hostage."

Reality returns in a rush. He clenches his eyes closed, sucking in a breath. "No."

He can feel her impatience, her frustration, and he almost caves when he opens his eyes and sees her face. Her eyes are liquid, her mouth parted slightly. She's hopeful, he realizes. She wants so badly to help, to ease his guilt, but she can't… he can't put this on her shoulders. It's unfair.

She waits, as if she thinks he'll change his mind, and when he doesn't speak, she finally drops his hand. Standing, she moves around the coffee table. "I'm tired," she says quietly. "I'm going to bed."

He watches her walk away, watches the sharpness in the way she holds her shoulders as she makes her way towards her bedroom. He almost jumps up, almost begs her to come back, to stay with him, to push a little harder. Part of him wants so badly to tell her, but he just can't seem to bring himself to do it. He pictures the blue in her eyes changing, the brightness shifting so that they cloud with a storm he's brought with him.

He can't do it. He loves that blue -- it's taken two and a half years to make them this bright.

He isn't sure how long he sits in silence by himself, but he finally stands, heading to her hall closet and pulling a quilt and spare pillow from the shelf. Checking the door once again, he flips off the lights and settles onto the couch.

But he finds himself restless, unable to sleep, fearful of nightmares. And so he snaps the light near his head back on and picks up her book.

He opens it up, searching for where he left off when a loose page flutters out, falling to his chest. Frowning, he picks it up, examining it curiously.

There's a note scrawled in pen, and it's addressed to Angela. Reading it quickly, he swiftly realizes it's not from Bones but from Hodgins. It's a confession of love, written in desperation, and he realizes it's from when his partner and Jack were buried in her car. He wonders if she knows this is still pressed between the pages.

Sighing, he lets the book drop onto his chest, fingering the paper slowly. He wonders if Bones had written anything to anyone; to Angela or to her family. It doesn't seem like her, to leave a sappy note or an emotional goodbye. She most likely would have been fighting until the end, trying to logically figure a way out. She doesn't give up.

He lets the paper flip over in his fingers and frowns when he sees more words, this time the loops and swirls of the handwriting more familiar. Squinting in the low light, he holds it closer to his face and sucks in a breath:

_**Seeley,**_

_**I know little of love, and I'm not sure I understand the heart well enough to ever have explained. But if my heart had ever been capable of speaking, I think it would have spoken of you. **_

_**Always, **_

_**Temperance.**_

He finds himself unable to breathe as he holds the single sheet of paper between his fingers. It trembles as he lies there, quivering in the silence.


	11. Chapter 11

_**so, this is a bit shorter due to the fact that i need to go out tonight and have been on IM with a certain awesome lady all day. :) but you can thank jamie for inspiring me with a video of DB being HOSED DOWN WITH WATER. thank you, woman. **_

_**the talk that needs to happen is very near, but i'll just leave this part to get you interested. ;) xoxo mia**_

**Chapter eleven.**

Despite the heat being at a normal level for winter in DC, Temperance is cold. Sliding more deeply under the covers, she lets her eyes follow the perimeter of her room. It is quiet, filled only with the sound of tiny things. But her mind… as always, it is never silent.

She has rarely felt more frustrated, more helpless. Again and again she has tried to reach him, and every time she think she's getting closer, she slams herself into the same brick wall. He's even arguing with her less – this time, he's simply looked at her and said, "No."

He's mistaken if he thinks she doesn't still hate psychology. It goes against every thing she's been taught as a scientist; it involves making assumptions, trusting your instincts. She's learned to trust fact – fact doesn't confuse her, fact doesn't distract her by making her feel. She knows how to wield it, tease out the truth, even from someone who can no longer speak. She spent years after her parents disappeared wondering, speculating; spinning tales. It never brought her to the truth. Only hard science returned her mother to her.

Sighing heavily, she shifts beneath the covers, her legs tangling in the sheets. In the last hour, she's tried to list the reasons that she refuses to share how she's feeling with someone in an attempt to figure him out. The first involves wanting to protect someone. She acknowledges that hypothesis fits Booth well, but something is nagging at her, something that seems to whisper that it's more than him simply trying to shield her from something for her own good.

The only other reason she's been able to come up with is self-preservation. She's kept the history and details of her childhood and her family firmly to herself for the majority of her life. And if she's honest, she never would have shared as much as she has with Booth if her history hadn't become entangled with their work.

There are still things she hasn't told him – things she fears will change how he sees her. He tells her again and again how strong he believes her to be, how independent and confident. If he only knew how deeply her insecurities could run, he might feel differently.

He might feel differently about her.

And if that's the case, if that's why he's holding back from her, it means that her opinion of him is important, important enough for him to protect. What he doesn't realize is that when he's seemed strongest to her, seemed heroic, he wasn't fighting with his fists or his gun.

Before she can speculate further, she's startled by a sound. It's coming from the living room, and she sits upright quickly, the covers falling from her chest. Nervously, she lets her bare feet touch the cool wood of her bedroom floor, inching her way towards the door. Could someone have gotten in? She can't imagine anyone would have gotten past Seeley Booth.

But his moan is evident as soon as she opens her door, and she doesn't stop to think – she dashes towards the living room.

Her eyes adjust quickly, despite the dark, and she swiftly assesses that he's the only person in the room. He is on the couch, beneath the spare quilt that she keeps in the hall closet, and he's turning fitfully, his face displaying a pained expression.

He's having another nightmare. Whatever's haunting him, it has a tight and merciless grip. Moving closer, she reaches out to touch him when she sees the book in his hands.

It's one of her novels. Tugging it from his hand gently, she moves to set it on the coffee table when a piece of paper falls from underneath it where it had been lying against his chest, landing at her feet.

Scooping it up, she squints in the darkness, and she feels her mouth go dry. The words she'd scrawled in the front seat of her car when it was buried deep in the ground stare back at her, and she glances down at the man next to her.

The man who now knows that he hasn't been just a partner to her for a very long time.

He moans again suddenly, twisting, and she drops the page on the table, sinking down next to him, her hand pressing to his face.

"Booth," she whispers, trying to soothe him. "Booth, wake up."

But he's too lost, he doesn't respond to her voice, and she lifts the edge of the quilt, slipping next to him, trying to tuck into his arms. "Booth," she whispers again.

The couch is a tight fit, and so she tries to entwine with his limbs, trying to reassure him with her body that she is here, that he's not alone.

"Seeley," she tries again.

"I'm sorry," he suddenly chokes. "I'm so sorry, please forgive him."

He turns in his sleep, pressing his face into her neck, and she pulls him closer.

She closes her own eyes. She wishes this could stop, that she could help him, but she doesn't understand how. She only knows that when she's terrified, when she's feeling her past choke her, she feels safest when she's with him, when she can smell his scent, can hear the sound of his voice.

**xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo**

When he struggles into consciousness, she is pressed beside him, her body running along the length of his, her face tucked into his shoulder. Confused, he glances around and finds he's still on her couch.

Shifting, his body groans at the tight space on the sofa, and she sighs softly when he shifts. He doesn't understand why she's left the comfort of her bed to cram onto the small couch with him, but when he attempts to sit up slightly, his nightmare comes back full force, knocking a gasp from his lungs.

She must have heard him, or known somehow.

His body still tingles at the memories, and he clenches his eyes shut for a moment. And the fact that she heard him, that she came to him – he flushes again at his embarrassment, at his weakness.

Struggling to sit up, he pulls her into his arms, kicking the quilt from them both, intent on returning her to her bed. She snuggles closer as he stands, and he's suddenly aware of her bare legs under his forearm. She's wearing only a t-shirt, and when he glances down, he sees it's one of his, one she must have somehow picked up over the years of their partnership. It hits him in the solar plexus, and heat spreads from his belly throughout his body. She sleeps in his shirt.

He reaches her bed, setting her down gently, and she wraps her arms around his neck, and again, his first name is on her lips. He thinks he'll never tire of hearing her say it, of hearing a sigh escape her.

Untangling himself from her, he looks down at her, his eyes tracing her body. He remembers the words in the note she'd left him, remembers the way they sounded as he'd repeated them aloud over and over on a breath.

_But if my heart had ever been capable of speaking, I think it would have spoken of you. _

He forgets, with how clinical she can sound, that she is still a writer. Her words have hit him in a way that nothing else has in a very long time. If her heart could speak of him… what would it say? He wishes he knew. She had been under the impression she might die, trapped and without air, and she had written only to him.

It's shaken him.

And this time, he's unable to walk away. Shucking his pants, he pulls back the covers and slips in beside her, reaching for her, tugging her against him again, and she follows easily with no resistance. He slips his hand over her cheek, brushing her hair from her face, and leans down, softly touching her lips with his.

**xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox**

The rain is still pelting the windows when she awakens, and the room is not bright but she can see that it's morning. There are no birds to wake her – they've all taken cover, hiding from the downpour that slicks the sidewalks.

Booth is beside her – she knew it before she opened her eyes or was even really fully awake. His arm is draped loosely around her waist, and his face is pressed to the back of her neck. She can feel his breath against her skin, can feel his hips pressing into hers.

She doesn't know when he'd brought them both back to her room, but she's surprised that he has stayed with her. Turning in his arms, she presses forward into his chest, and he mumbles something in his sleep.

His skin is warm against hers, and she inhales deeply, enjoying the scent of him on her sheets and her own skin, loving the way her fits next to her.

Without thinking, she presses a kiss at his throat, and she feels him respond, shifting next to her. Opening her mouth slightly, she kisses him again, sliding her hand down the smooth skin of his back.

He sighs deeply, pressing his hips closer against hers, and she can feel his response to her touch immediately. Trailing her lips along his clavicle, she nips lightly at his skin and he moans. When she sneaks a peek at his face, his eyelashes are fluttering, and, seeing her chance, she lifts herself up, rolling him over. Before he can open his eyes, she has her mouth on his, her body trapping his beneath her.

His hands come around her waist in surprise, and when his mouth opens, her tongue slips inside, caressing his. Tightening his grip on her, he returns her kiss, his tongue tangling with hers, and she spreads her legs, straddling his hips. At the feel of her pressed against him, he gasps into her mouth.

"Temperance!" he rasps, trying to hold her hips still.

She grabs his hands and slams them down above his head, sinking them into the mattress. His eyes widen, and she leans lower again, her breath touching his lips as he speaks.

"I need you, Booth," she whispers. "Don't push me away."

And she does, she realizes. If this is the only way he'll let her in at the moment, she wants it. Her mind wars with her for a moment, wondering if this is smart, but when he shifts again beneath her, she knows she can't pull away.

He tries to roll her beneath him, but she squeezes him firmly between her thighs and he groans. Reaching for the edge of her t-shirt, she pulls it over her head in one motion and his hands follow the newly exposed skin, sliding towards her breasts.

He doesn't succeed in getting her on her back, but after his fingers run over her nipples, his eyes darken with something that makes her heart thump, and his hands slide to her shoulders and he tugs her down to him, his lips closing over a nipple and she gasps.

Grinding her pelvis against his, he groans at her breast and she rotates her touch, feeling electricity shoot throughout her body. His hands slip from her shoulders to her back, sliding into the back of her panties, and he cups her ass, jerking her against him.

He lets go of her breast and she drops her mouth to his, thrusting her tongue aggressively against him. He's well awake now, his hands guiding her hips into a rhythm that matches his tongue, and she's practically quaking with desire.

She manages to lift her hips free for a moment, dragging at his boxers, and he fumbles desperately, hooking a finger into the crotch of her underwear and dragging it to the side. Their eyes meet for only a moment, and then he tugs her down, thrusting deep.

Her head falls back and she cries out. Placing her palms on his chest, she undulates her hips and he groans, his hands flying everywhere, touching as much of her as he can, coaxing her into a rhythm that matches his own.

The room is heavy with their breathing and gasping, and her eyes fall closed when he slips a hand between them, sliding over her clit, and she clenches more tightly around him, wanting to trap him against her forever.

She's going limp above him, her orgasm thundering towards her, and he finally sweeps her beneath him, sweeping knees apart and letting himself go, thrusting harder and more deeply.

She's grasping around his neck, falling, tumbling over the edge in a matter of minutes, and he tucks his head against her neck and thunders to his own release, leaving them both sweaty and gasping for breath.

When she can finally pull away, she meets his eyes, and she sees the struggle in them, the struggle to understand this thing between them, and she knows it's time.

This time when she pushes, he's going to listen.


	12. Chapter 12

_**sorry for those of you who started to read before i realized i uploaded this incorrectly. **_

**_i hope this chapter is what you guys hoped for -- it was the hardest one to write. and thanks to jamie for reading for me and helping out. ;) i've tried to keep the characters true to the way i see them -- demons and all. xoxo mia_**

**Chapter twelve.**

Falling to his back onto the mattress, Seeley still attempts to catch his breath. His skin is slicked with sweat, his chest heaving, and Temperance has pulled herself to a sitting position beside him. He sees the mess of her hair as it tumbles over her shoulders, clinging to her own damp skin, and he cannot help but lift a hand to gently trace the line of her spine – just a quick caress.

She doesn't turn to face him immediately, and over the next several moments, he watches the subtle shift in her body. Her shoulders tighten slightly, her knees slide up towards her chest, and she hugs them to her.

"You had another nightmare last night," she says quietly, her back still to him.

He swallows, his hand falling from her body. "Yes."

"I could hear you from in here, through the closed door."

He closes his eyes, his hand falling to rest over his heart, which is thudding beneath his palm. "I'm sorry," he whispers. "I didn't mean to disturb your sleep."

"I wasn't sleeping."

His eyes open quickly at her response, and she's quiet for a moment before continuing.

"I was lying here, trying to determine whether I could use my "gut", so to speak, as a tool to evaluate evidence."

He starts to struggle to a sitting position. "Something about the case you think we –"

"Not in regards to the case," she says sharply, finally swiveling around to meet his eyes. "In regards to you."

He freezes, half propped on his elbows as he sees the determination in her gaze. She wants to talk about this; she's not going to let it go.

Something in his chest starts to give way – he's so exhausted. "And what did you decide?" he asks wearily.

"That you think you're protecting me from something by holding all this in yourself."

Surprised by her answer, he nods slowly. "Yes. Yes, I am, Bones. That's exactly what I'm doing. So –"

"I said that's what you _think_ you're doing," she interrupts. "Not what you're doing in actuality."

He feels nervous. If she launches into some complicated explanation as to why she feels he's holding back from her, his head might explode trying to follow. Her newfound interest in psychology isn't necessarily going to be a smooth transition.

He sighs dramatically. Irritability seems to be his only possible shield. "And what is it you think you've figured out, Temperance?"

She jerks back the covers, jumping from the bed, and he's surprised as hell when a pillow smacks him in the face. "Hey!" he shouts, jumping up himself. "What the hell was that for?"

"The tone in your voice!" she snaps, launching another pillow in his direction.

This time he snaps it out of the air easily in one swipe, tossing it back on the bed. "I'm not going to apologize for that, Bones! You're trying to force me into something I don't want to do!"

Another pillow rips his way, and he catches it just as easily, and he lets it drop from his hand to the floor.

"I'm trying to get you to admit something to me, something you're not being honest about!"

His anger is escalating. His breathing has become more rapid, and his face is as red as hers as they face off from opposite sides of the bed.

"Because I'm trying to protect you, damnit!" he shouts.

"No, you're not!" she volleys back. "You're trying to protect yourself!"

He freezes, his stomach dropping, his eyes snapping to hers. She's standing with her hands on her hips, out of pillow ammunition. Her eyes are flashing, and he wants suddenly, desperately to run to the door.

"What did you just say?" he asks, his voice low.

"You heard me."

He sucks in a breath. "Where did you get that idea?" he asks her quietly.

He can see from the way she shifts slightly that she's picked up on the tone in his voice, the slight warning laced with his words. But she doesn't back down.

"Because it's why I would do it," she says quietly, meeting his eyes.

Panic is starting to rise up from his feet to his head, and for a moment, just one, he thinks he might hate her.

"What is it you think I'm protecting myself from, exactly?" he says, his eyes narrowing.

"From me. I think you believe that if you tell me this secret, this thing that's eating you up inside, you think my opinion of you will change, that I'll –"

"It _will_ change!" he growls suddenly, the words leaving his mouth before he has a chance to stop himself.

Her eyes widen, and he sees he's just confirmed her suspicions. And he's not about to stick around for that, not even for a moment.

Dipping down, he snatches up his pants and heads for the door of her bedroom, stalking around the corner of the bed.

She lets out a shout of anger and darts towards him, slamming her back up against the door before he can open it.

Furious, practically shaking, he snakes his hand around her, reaching for the doorknob. "Move."

She lifts her chin, meeting his eyes, her expression determined.

"No."

"Bones," he growls. "Don't make me move you."

"I'd like to see you try," she says, gritting her teeth. "I'm not backing down, Booth."

He throws his pants on the floor, his head spinning, his gut churning. No, no, no.

Stepping back from her, he presses his hands to his face, trying to breathe. They are both literally nearly naked, and it makes him feel even more vulnerable. His dogtags still hang between her breasts, catching the light, reminding him. "I'm warning you, Temperance. You don't want to push me on this. Why can't you just trust me –"

"I _do_ trust you!" she explodes, stepping towards him, tugging his hands from his face. "But this isn't about me trusting you – it's about you trusting me!"

He sees the earnestness on her face, and something about it makes his anger fade slightly. "I do trust you," he tries to explain.

"No, no you don't," she insists. "You don't. You just told me you thought my opinion of you would change." She reaches out, cupping his face, and he flinches, trying to pull back from her.

"But it won't, Seeley. I think you're incredibly brave and incredibly strong and one of the most honorable people I've ever come across in my life. I trust you with mine –"

He starts to cut her off, but she covers his lips with her fingers.

"—I trust you with mine, and I always will. But," she says, forcing him to meet her eyes. "I don't think you're perfect. I think you have things in your past that make you hurt, things you wish you could forget, or things you wish you hadn't done. And I accept that about you. Those things, those demons you have… they're a part of you. They influence who you are now, they've made you the man I trust and –"

She cuts herself off. "Whatever you tell me, I'll still be here," she promises.

He pulls back from her, shaking his head. But she just waits, silently, blocking his only exit, and he sits back on the edge of the bed in defeat, dropping his head.

"Do you remember what you told me in the car that day, the day the Epps escaped from prison?"

She's quiet for a moment, and he glances up at her.

"I imagine I said a lot of things," she says quietly.

He swallows, dropping his eyelids, looking away from her, the memory still fresh for him. "I was trying to say Epps was worse than others, that there are levels of murder, different types of crimes. And you said that it didn't matter the intention behind someone who kills. What matters is the loss of a life." He drops his head again, his shoulders slumping.

He can hear her suck in a breath. "I don't always say the right thing," she manages. "I wasn't talking about you, Booth. You must know that… what you do, what you've done in the past, it's been necessary –"

"Has it?" he asks quietly, finally raising his head again. "Is that really what you believe?"

She steps closer, sinking down to her knees in front of him, and he closes his eyes, unable to look at her this close.

"Yes," she says quietly, tugging his hands into her own. "Yes, it's what I believe. It's why I work with you, Seeley. It's why I'm able to do the things I do, because of you. I trust your judgment, I trust your instincts –"

"I'm talking about what happened before I joined the FBI," he says quietly.

She shakes her head, and he can see her eyes tearing. "I don't judge you, Booth. I never have."

He wonders if that's really true, wonders if she ever looks at him and sees someone who hid in the shadows, taking someone's life without permission.

She drops her own head suddenly. "I know you didn't like me when we first started working together," she says regretfully, and he can hear the hesitation in her voice, the vulnerability. "I know that. But –"

"No, I didn't like you," he tells her suddenly, tightening his hand around her own, using his other to tilt her chin up to look at him. "I didn't _like_ you, Temperance. But the first time you smiled at me, really smiled, I knew I would love you."

He hears her breath stop, and his own heart slams against his ribcage. He hadn't meant to admit that to her, exactly, but he had. And now she's looking at him with her shining eyes, and his hands weave into her hair, pulling her closer, and it all begins to tumble out, no longer trapped tightly behind the wall he's spent years erecting.

"I knew I would love you," he repeats, his voice softening, his eyes sliding over her beautiful face. "I knew that I would do almost anything for you, would protect you against anyone who tried to make you cry or make you feel like you didn't matter, like you were someone that could be forgotten or left behind." He strokes her cheek gently with his thumb. "I'll never be able to forget you, Temperance. Never. I can't even bring myself to stay away from you when I think it's best, to keep my distance when I think it might keep you safe."

"I am safe," she whispers. "I'm safe with you, I always have been."

Her words cut, causing a flash of pain beneath his ribs. "Bones…"

"Tell me," she pleads. "Tell me what happened, what's to make you push me away like this, what's haunting you at night."

One last time, he tries to deny her, to shut her out. He closes his eyes, his hands still cupping her face. "Please, I just –"

"Booth," she whispers. "I haven't had a home since I was fifteen years old."

He opens his eyes, meeting hers, and this time there are tears leaking from them. He brushes them away with his thumb, feeling his heart compressing in his chest at the sight of them. He hates when she cries, hates when she has the lost sound in her voice.

"I spent my adult life having apartments, having houses," she continues. "And they were never home. The closest I've had is my lab. My _lab _–where I work. And then you came along –"

She catches herself, sucking in a breath, trying not to cry. "You said there were different kinds of family," she whispers.

He feels the tears push behind his own lids, and he takes a deep, shuddering breath. "Yes," he tells her. "Yes."

"I thought that meant that we…." She bites her lower lip, this time dropping her own eyes. "I thought that meant you'd be my family. That you'd stay with me, that you'd trust me, that you'd lean on me as much as I lean on you." She sneaks a look at him through her lashes. "Don't you think I've worried what you'd think of me, Booth? You're a cop -- I was raised by criminals. Criminals who left me in foster care, left me shuffled amongst strangers." She swipes at her own tears, puling her face from his hands. "You don't think I worried you'd think less of me when I told you that?" she says, trembling. "That you'd reject me?"

"Temperance," he moans, pulling her into his arms. "No, no. I would never reject you."

She gasps as he pulls her into his lap, holding her tightly to his chest, and his heart aches. He'd thought he was protecting her, keeping the weight of what he'd done off her shoulders. But that's not how she'd seen it, and she was right.

He's been protecting himself.

Beginning with a trembling voice, he begins to slowly speak to her, his hand stroking her back, his head tucked next to hers where it lies against his throat.

"When I went into that warehouse, I was already thinking of you, thinking of when Kenton had you. And by the time we cornered the bastard in a back room, we found out he had the hostage stashed there, tied up."

She's lying still against him, the chug of her heart soothing, and he takes a deep breath. "And I saw you. The hostage turned to me, terrified and wanting my help, and I saw you there, saw your face, and I froze."

She remains silent, but her hand curls into his chest, her palm pressing against his heart, and he closes his eyes.

"And that bastard saw it, he saw my face. And so he shot at me, and when I shot back, I missed." He pulls in a ragged, painful breath. "I was so scared for you, scared that it could have been you, that I wouldn't have reached you in time, and I let a man die. I was _responsible_ for his death."

He swipes at his own tears angrily. "I told you about the line, Bones. I told you that I couldn't cross it, but I'd already done so with you, done so within only a few weeks of knowing you. And this proved it – I let my personal feelings for you affect my professional judgment, and it cost someone their life." He presses a kiss to the top of her head. "And I never wanted you to know that, to make you feel responsible – because it's _me_ who's responsible."

She pulls her head back, looking at him, her eyes glistening. "The person who's responsible," she says quietly, "is the man who killed those other people, who took that man hostage, Seeley. Not you. And you can blame yourself, but it doesn't make it less true, to me or to anyone else. You're human, Booth. It could have been your son you saw instead -- someone that you can't push away. Would that change anything?"

He tries to speak, but she presses her fingers over his mouth. "I'm sorry you had to keep all that in," she whispers. "You could have told me. I'm not saying it wasn't hard to hear, but it doesn't change anything. It doesn't make you less to me – if anything, it makes you more. But you're my partner – please don't shut me out."

He's shaking, he realizes. Trembling visibly, as if he's freezing, as if he's been left out in the rain that still pounds the windows. Shifting in his lap, she slips her arms around his neck, pulling him close, sharing her warmth.


	13. Chapter 13

**_this is fairly short, i know, but it's what i could manage at the moment. hope you're all still enjoying the story as much as i'm enjoying your feedback. i'm sorry i can't seem to respond to everyone individually as i would have liked, but just know how much more motivating it is to realize people care enough to take the time to let you know what they like about what you've written. truly, i feel very lucky with how generous you all have been that review so often._**

_**i also posted two videos i've done on my profile page if you're into that sort of thing. for those of you who requested the dave video with him in a wet t-shirt, PM me and i'll email you the link since FF doesn't let you post links in a chapter for some reason. i don't want to post the link on my profile since it doesn't belong to me personally. xoxo mia**_

**Chapter Thirteen.**

She feels him shift slightly, the muscle in his shoulder rolling under her cheek, and she pulls back a bit, meeting his eyes, unsure how long they've stayed locked in an embrace.

His eyes are red-rimmed, but his breathing is easy, his heartbeat steady and even. She leans forward spontaneously, wanting to kiss his cheek, and his eyes flutter closed as her lips press against his skin.

"I'm thinking a shower might feel nice, what do you think?" she murmurs. "I'm still kind of sore from the tumble we took in the parking garage."

He nods, his hands dropping from her reluctantly. "Of course. I'm sure it'll make you feel a lot better."

He's clearly misunderstood her, and so she climbs off his lap, pulling a knee-length light robe from the back of a chair around herself and holding out her hand in invitation.

He raises his head, looking at her, and slowly takes her hand. He lets her lead him out of the bedroom and down the hallway, trailing behind her. When they reach the bathroom, she flips on the shower, allowing the water to warm, and turns to him, feeling a sudden flash of shyness.

He watches her silently, his eyelids at half-mast as he steps towards her slowly, his hands reaching for the belt of her robe, untying it gently. She shivers slightly as his hands sweep the fabric from her shoulders, letting it drop to the floor, and she sees him pause as his eyes fall once again on the tags that are still draped around her neck, his fingertips reaching out to brush lightly over the silver.

He hooks his thumbs into the cotton at her waist, tugging it down gently over her legs, and she lifts first one foot and then the other in assistance until she's standing in front of him, completely naked.

And she's never felt more naked with someone else, more exposed and vulnerable. It's not so much unpleasant as simply surprising, as is the gentle kiss he presses to her temple.

He pulls off his own boxers, and she guides him under the rush of hot water, ducking her hair under the spray, her hair slicking to her face and shoulders. He turns her slightly, his hand running gently over the back of her shoulder, and she tries to see what he's looking at, swiveling her head towards him.

"You have a bruise," he says quietly. "From where I shoved you down – I'm sorry."

"Better than being hit by a car," she says reassuringly. "Bruises fade, Booth. It'll be gone in a few days."

He nods, and when she turns back around she sees his own elbow has a large, bruising stain, and she catches his arm as he raises it to run his hand through his wet hair. "You have one, too."

He nods. "I've had worse; I'll be fine."

"Is it tender?' she asks quietly, trailing her fingers over his skin.

"A little."

She drops her head, pressing a gently kiss on his ulna. He sucks in a breath, dipping his own head down and searching out her mouth, pulling her into a slow, easy kiss.

Beads of water stream down her face to her chin as she tilts her head, sliding her tongue against his. There is no hurry this time, no urgency, and she enjoys the simple contact and the comfortable quiet.

He pulls back eventually, reaching for a bottle of shampoo, squeezing some into his palm, and within moments his hands are moving in her hair, the gentle massage of his fingers against her scalp mesmerizing. Her eyes flutter closed, and she allows herself to lean into his chest while he works.

He waltzes back a few steps with her under the water to rinse, dipping her head gently back, and his thumbs sweep across her forehead, protecting her eyes from the suds. The warm water feels wonderful against her aching muscles, and the warm man feels even better. _Seeley Booth should be required for all showers_, she thinks.

When her hair is clean, she tips up slightly onto her toes, returning the favor, and she watches the pulse at his jaw as her hands move in his hair, the way his eyes close as she works the soap through the strands. He's so beautiful to her, so strong and muscular with eyes that allow for vulnerability and gleam when he smiles.

Dancing another few steps, she now directs him under the water, watching as the soapy streams cascade down his shoulders, arms and chest. He finally opens his eyes, meeting her own, and her heart thumps so loudly in her chest she's sure he must hear it too.

No one's ever looked at her the way he does. She's known that for some time, but here in the privacy of her own bathroom, with only the rushing sound of the shower, it hits her with full force, nearly knocking the breath from her. It all seems tied together, this trust and attachment and attraction to pull her towards him with shocking force.

Needing a chance to breathe, she tears her eyes from his, turning to press an open palm into the condensation that has formed on the glass door of the shower, leaving her hand print. He moves behind her, one hand coming around her waist, and he presses his own print next to her own, the size difference between the two startling.

She presses back against him slightly, and his arm tightens around her, his jaw moving gently against her temple as he moves his hand from where he's left his print and using a finger to trace a line down the glass.

She closes her eyes for a moment, the water pooling around her feet, the ends of her hair dripping onto the tops of her breasts. And for once, her head isn't arguing with her heart – it's drifting as lazily as her body with the steam and the feeling of slick skin against her.

"Temperance…" he whispers against her ear, and her eyes flutter open, focusing once again on the shower door. What she sees, traced into the fog of the glass, make her heart stop.

_**I love you.**_

She reaches out with a trembling hand, the tips of her fingers falling beneath his words to leave small, clear circles against the fogged glass. Suddenly her whole body quivers, her eyes welling instantly with tears and she lets out a startled laugh, her smile stretching her face, her tears mixing with the water from the shower.

He waits for her, not moving or forcing her to face him, and a few moments pass before she finally turns in his arms, burying her face at his throat, embracing him tightly.

"You…" she tries to form words, unsure what she can even say to verbalize how she's feeling. Rarely is she at a loss like she is now, and her head spins as she clings to him to keep from falling to the floor of the shower.

He waltzes them another step, and her back is suddenly pressed into the tile, making her shiver, as he buries his face into her damp hair. "I love you," he whispers raggedly into her ear. "God, I love you, Temperance. I have for as long as I can remember."

Her hands suddenly tug into his hair, pulling him down to her as she searches for his mouth with hers. He presses into her, his tongue like velvet against her own, and she clings to him, kissing him as she sinks into the dizzying spin of his love.


	14. Chapter 14

_**hello, hello...! hope you're all enjoying the fact that it's finally friday! i have an evening of sushi and sake planned and am so relieved to have some time to relax in the next few days. this week has sure packed a wallop. **_

_**because jamie was so kind to help me with another aspect of this story while speaking last night, i have granted her little request of wall smut in this chapter. so happy friday, j, and hope this meets your expectations. ;) xoxo mia**_

Chapter fourteen.

He is breathless, groundless, weightless in his admission of love. Her skin is slick and warm beneath his hands, her damp hair clings to her cheeks and beads of water gather on the the tips of her lashes. He's pulled back from her kiss, simply drinking her in, and she blushes as he watches her, her cheeks reddening.

"What?" she whispers.

He tilts her chin up with his left hand, pressing feather-light kisses over her face. Her eyelids flutter closed as his lips drift over her lids, and when he returns to her mouth, she moans as their tongues tangle together.

He doesn't know how long this will last, how long she'll stay in his arms or if what he's confessed will scare her and she'll run. And so he decides to cherish every second, to hold her against him as long as he can.

Her reaction to his admission had startled him – she had seemed almost surprised. Despite desperately trying to keep it to himself all these years, he'd almost convinced himself that she's known for quite some time how deeply he loves her.

When he'd found the note, he'd seen that, in what she believed to be her last few moments, he'd been in her thoughts. She'd left her words for him to find, to tell me that he mattered to her, and standing now in her shower, her body so real, he feels so grateful it's staggering.

She wraps her arms around his waist, dancing again, and he lets her lead until his back is pressed to the cooler tiles that line the back wall. Her lips drop to his shoulder, her teeth nipping, and he winds his fingers into her wet hair. His eyes threaten to close, but he keeps them open. He wants to see, wants to see with his own eyes that she's here in front of him, with him.

She moves across his chest, her mouth reaching his nipple, and when she sucks on it a bolt of electricity splits through him, making him jerk and groan. His fingers tighten in her strands, the tips massaging her scalp, and she slips even lower, her tongue sliding across the flat of his stomach.

He's hard and aching before he's even realized her intent, but when she finally sinks to her knees, his head falls back against the tile with a soft thud in defeat, worrying if he'll even be able to stand.

She glances up at him once, through the thick and gorgeous fringe of her lashes, and he sees the heat in her eyes, the blue practically flaming. In all the dreams and fantasies he's had about her, she's never looked so gloriously beautiful or felt so warm.

She flicks the tip of her tongue out teasingly and he gasps, his body jumping. He's practically beside himself with desire before she's even started, and every sense is heightened as she swirls the tip of him with the flat of her tongue.

"Temperance –" he gasps. "Oh, god…"

She teases him, flickering her tongue around him, kissing the inside of his inner thigh, running the pad of her thumb along the underside of him. He's whispering to her, pleading with her, and when she suddenly surges upward, pulling herself to her feet, he's shocked to see her lift her face into the spray of the shower, her mouth opening, filling with the steaming water.

And then she's sinking back to her knees, and when she takes him into her mouth he surges. Her mouth is so hot and wet, her tongue like burning velvet, and he lets out a string of expletives and clenches his eyes shut in amazement.

His hands fist into her hair, his knees trembling as she pulls him more deeply into her mouth, and he continues to cry out, unable to form sentences or keep from gasping. It's the one of the most incredible sensations he's ever experienced, and his legs tremble as he attempts to stay standing.

She repeats the process, once again pulling to her feet and heating her mouth with the water and returning to his skin, and the second time his hips surge forward despite his best efforts to stay still, and she braces her hands on his thighs, balancing on the balls of her feet.

He feels his orgasm thundering towards him and realizes that he doesn't want this to end in her mouth. Begging, he tugs her to back up towards him, his lips hovering over her own.

"I want to be inside you when we come!" he gaps. "I want you with me."

She flushes again, and he turns with her, pinning her to the tile as his tongue fills her mouth, her hips cradling him. They've moved closer to the spray, and it pounds his back as he drops his head to her chest, fastening his mouth to the tip of her breast, pulling a cry from her in response.

He slides another hand down over her hips, burying his fingers between her legs, and his balls tighten painfully as he feels how slick and warm she is, how ready for him. Dragging his teeth gently over her nipple, he rotates his touch between her thighs and she clamps them around his hand, letting out a sexy moan.

"Yes," she pleads. "Yes, yes… Now, yes."

He doesn't think there's anything sexier than her like this, than her trembling under his hands. He believes he's the luckiest man on earth, and feels a moment of sympathy for all the poor bastards who have to live without knowing Temperance Brennan.

Looping his arms around her thighs, he lifts her, pressing her back high against the shower wall, and she gasps, her arms tightening around his shoulders as she clings to him. Her heel hits her bottles of shampoo and they crash to the floor of the shower, neither of them caring as they spill at his feet.

He meets her eyes again, and the words tumble again from his lips without thought or reason, and he's chanting words of love as he presses into her, sinking deeply inside her with a shudder.

"Oh, GOD," she moans, her head rolling against the tile. Her legs scissor around his hips; her heels digging into his ass, holding him tightly against her. "Oh my _god_."

He drops his head as he starts to move, his breath harsh against the delicate skin of her throat. His impending orgasm is returning swiftly, and he slows his movements to try and make this last, to bring her along with him into the depths.

He lifts his head, meeting her eyes, which are half-closed as if she's drugged with sensation. He kisses her deeply before lifting his mouth to whisper, "Trust me…?"

She nods once, her eyes wide, and he lifts her arms from his shoulders to wind them around his neck. "Hang on to me," he rasps.

Again, she nods, and he drops his hands to her knees and spreads them wide, pressing her open, and sinks to the hilt inside her.

"Oh…" she chokes out, her head falling to his shoulder. She stays open for him, clinging around his upper body, and he moves to cup her ass, supporting her firmly, and withdraws again before returning home. She fits him like a glove, envelops him in her warmth and depths, and he is suddenly, shockingly grateful for every event in his life that led him to her and this moment.

He can feel her body tensing around him and he knows it's only a matter of moments before he is lost, and so he thrusts hard, one last time, the contact of their bodies complete. She sinks her teeth into his shoulder, her scream lost against his skin as she tips over the edge with him, and they free-fall together.

**xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxooxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo**

She's struggling to breathe when he finally loosens his grip on her, allowing her to slip down from the wall of the shower. But when her feet hit solid ground, she finds her knees are still too weak and she doesn't stop, letting herself drop to the floor of the tub, and he follows.

She feels him tug her into his arms, and she follows with no resistance, slipping between his legs and dropping her face into his chest, her heart still pounding.

In the past two days she's had the most powerful orgasms of her entire life. No other experience she's had has come even close to reaching what she's found with Seeley Booth, and it leaves her breathless and tipped upside down and turned inside out and she is unsure as to what she even understands anymore. The emotional confrontations they've had seem tangled and woven with blurry edges and beautiful, haunting memories of her gasping beneath and around him.

"Booth," she manages, struggling to remember the day and what she should be doing. "We need to go to work."

He nods, and when she sneaks a peek at him, she sees his eyes are closed, and that his head is resting against the rim of the tub. "I know."

"They're probably wondering where we are," she whispers, unable to hold back a lusty yawn. "If something's happened to us. I promised Angela I would call when I woke up."

He tightens his arm around her, sighing softly, his voice drifting off. "Yeah, okay."

They are both nearly drunk, lying languidly in the empty tub as the water assaults their legs and hips. Wiping her still-wet hair from her eyes, she turns slightly in his arms, and the words he's written in the glass are still visible in the thick condensation, and she traces them again and again with her eyes as she listens to the steady rhythm of the falling water.


	15. Chapter 15

_**okay... happy sunday to you all. hope you've all been enjoying your weekend. it's been glorious here -- a beautiful sunny 80 degrees and i've enjoyed every moment of it. i don't want monday to come!**_

_**here's the next chapter. the story will be wrapping up shortly, i think (course, it was only supposed to be three chapters, but this time i think i mean it) and so this is kind of setting up one of the last big things. xoxo mia**_

_** jamie just pointed out that i'm a total DOLT and that i DO want monday to come because BONES is back!! i'm an idiot. okay, what i mean to say was that i don't want to return to work/school. GAH.**_

**Chapter fifteen.**

The icy rain is still sheeting down when they step out of her apartment, and Temperance is struggling in vain to keep her bag and both of their heads under the umbrella she's holding.

It had taken a bit of pushing on her part to convince him to take her to The Jeffersonian, but his ears had perked up when she'd informed him that not only had both victims been identified, but that Jack had also determined where both women had been killed.

She feels him slip an arm around her waist, pulling her more tightly against him. It's clearly to make it easier for them to share the umbrella, but it feels incredibly intimate, and she feels herself flushing. They're about to be in front of their friends, and she wonders how many seconds it's going to take Angela to notice something's different.

A gust off wind whips by suddenly, dampening their faces and causing her hair to tangle in one of the spokes of the umbrella. And it's at that moment, as he turns to help her, that a shot rings out and he jerks next to her.

Jerking her head, she sees a flash of red on his arm and then she's being shoved to the ground, rolling with him wrapped around her into a muddy, icy puddle.

"Booth!" she gasps from under the protective shield of his body.

She can hear the shouts and the sound of slamming car doors, and knows that the agents watching her apartment have leapt into action. Icy water seeps through her jacket and pools in her lower back, and she gasps at the sensation. She's trembling violently, both from cold and her fear for him.

Apparently convinced that the other agents have things secured, he pulls himself to his feet, tugging her up and out of the water with him. She swivels her head to try and see what's happening, but he's already wrapping her into his arms, and despite wanting to protest, she indulges for a few moments, soaking up a bit of his body heat.

"You're shot!" she insists as she tries to pull away. "Booth –"

"It's nothing," he mutters. "Just a graze."

She struggles slightly, and as he releases her, she takes a look at his arm, watching the blood mix with the rain as it splatters on the sidewalk. "This isn't just a graze."

"I'm fine," he insists. He starts to tug her towards the agents, who have a man surrounded, and she snatches up her now-drenched bag from the sidewalk before allowing him to drag her towards the other men.

Her partner is shaking with fury by the time they reach the suspect, and he's in his face instantly, despite the protest of the other agents, his hair slicked to his face in the rain, his eyes flashing.

The man is flinching as Booth shouts, and Temperance steps forward, trying to put a calming hand on his arm but he's rigid in his anger and barely responds.

"Why were you trying to shoot her??" she hears him demand. "Tell me right now or I'll shoot you myself, you got that??"

The suspect's eyes widen at the threat. "I wasn't trying to shoot her!" he blurts out in surprise.

Temperance starts to speak, but Booth grabs the front of the man's jacket and yanks him until they're nearly nose-to-nose. "What did you say?" he growls.

Another agent steps forward, trying to diffuse the situation, but her partner is ignoring everyone except the man in his iron grip.

"I said I wasn't trying to shoot her!" the man gasps. "I was supposed to shoot you, okay?"

Temperance feels her heart drop into her stomach at the man's fumbling words. Her eyes instantly dart to her partner's face, and she sees a flicker of surprise in his eyes before he thrusts the man so violently from him that he tumbles back into a group of agents, stumbling.

But Temperance is only watching Booth, and she sees him suck in a huge breath, spinning on his heel and tipping his face back as his eyes close. The rain is unrelenting, and she shivers again, soaked to the bone as she watches him stand in front of her under the cloudy, stormy sky.

**xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxooxoxoxoxoxo**

Behind the glass, Temperance wraps her arms tightly around herself. Booth is stiff beside her, his eyes fixed like a hawk's on the shooter as he sits at a table with an agent.

He'd been furious when he'd been denied the chance to question him himself, and he's still fuming as they listen in as the man is drilled by one of his colleagues.

"WHO?" the agent asks sharply, leaning across the table, intimidating the subject.

Temperance finds herself wondering about the man who shot at her partner. His behavior doesn't match with other hitmen she's encountered since working with the FBI. He's nervous and fidgety, not slick and cold.

The agent bags his hand on the table and the man jumps, and looks as if he's about to cry.

"Look, man, here's the deal, okay?" he starts in a trembling voice. "My brother, he's in the can. And he got this new cellmate, and he's a real bastard. And he says he'll _kill_ my brother unless I do what he says, alright? And he says to kill the FBI guy."

Temperance feels nauseous as the words spill from the man's mouth in a hurried jumble, and she shivers. If her hair hadn't been caught in the umbrella…

She sees Booth's jaw clench at the words, and she steps a bit closer to him, wanting to be near his body, to hear his heartbeat, to feel his warmth.

"Alls he said was, kill the cop and run over his science bitch, alright??"

"Son of a bitch!" Booth suddenly bursts out, startling her, clenching his jaw tightly.

Temperance's heart hurts. She hasn't even registered that she was a target as well -- simply that Booth has an enemy willing to go to great lengths to see him dead. And she knows him well enough to know that he's already playing the blame-game in his head.

"Booth…" she attempts, but he's not even listening. He's focused solely on the two men on the other side of the glass.

"And who's threatening your brother?"

The man is silent for a moment, and the agent sighs wearily. "We can find out in a matter of moments. So tell us now."

The man mumbles a name that means nothing to Temperance, but Booth sucks in a sharp breath, and his face goes white. She steps towards him, but he instantly takes a step back in response.

"That fucking bastard," he swears, furious.

"Booth… who is he talking about?"

"He's just a gift that keeps on giving isn't he??" he asks, spinning around, his back to her.

"I don't understand…"

His shoulders slump, and she watches his head drop slightly, his hands falling to his hips.

"It's that bastard," he says, his voice strained in a way that makes her heart hurt, makes her eyes water. "The one from the warehouse."

**xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo**

Seeley is so worked up, she's nervous to suggest they leave the Hoover Building.

He'd stormed from the room when she'd tried to reach for him, and after she'd called the lab and explained the situation to Cam, she'd gone in search of him, finding his office empty.

But as she looks through the glass of his office, she spies him leaning against a wall in the corridor, and she heads towards him, wondering in what state she'll find him.

He sees her coming and his eyes flash with something familiar, but she can't quite place it, and in a moment it's gone. Sighing heavily, he closes his eyes, leaning his head back against the wall.

"I suppose you want to go to work."

She frowns. "I wanted to see if you were okay."

He opens one eye, sneaking a peek at her. "I'm fine, Bones," he says with another sigh. "We got the guy in custody."

"You're not fine."

He pushes off the wall, his eyes on her. "You want to go to The Jeffersonian?"

She's confused. She doesn't understand why once again, he's shut tight like a steel trap.

"Booth –"

He must see the determination in her eyes, because he guides her easily towards his office, grabbing his coat and handing her own to her. "Let's get to the lab, alright? You have work to do."

"But I want to talk about –"

"I don't," he says firmly. "Later, Bones, alright? But we have work to do."

She tenses herself, frustrated. "Why do you get to decide these kinds of things, anyway? I had work to do yesterday, and you said no, I had to stay put. Now I want to talk and you say we have work to do."

He steps towards her, his eyes meeting hers. "Temperance. There's a man who attempted to mow you down yesterday because he was mad at me, alright? That's my priority. Something almost happened to you because of me."

"Yeah, well, you got blown up because someone was mad at me!" she counters. "So that argument means nothing."

She sees a possessive, very male expression enter his eyes and she feels her own anger pulsing hotly within her.

"Fine," she suddenly snaps. "Let's go. You're right, I want to go to the lab."

"Temperance," he says suddenly, reaching out and grabbing her am as he turns towards the door. "Our partnership is getting dangerous."

Clenching her teeth, she shakes her head. "Don't you dare, Booth. Don't you dare say that to me."

"It is. This isn't the first time someone's threatened people I care about because of my job. And it's not going to be the last. I have to face that."

"Face it? What on earth does that mean, Booth?"

He opens his mouth but she yanks her arm from his grip, stalking out of his office, her mind swimming with all that wasn't said.


	16. Chapter 16

_**hope this makes up for the angst of the last chapter a little... :) and i hope you all enjoyed the show that already got to see it! i still have another hour to wait, but i'm really excited. ;) xoxo mia**_

_**ps. reviews make me happy. and i've had a rough day, take pity. :)**_

**Chapter sixteen.**

Furious, Temperance drops down into the chair behind her desk, her face flushed with her anger. She taps angrily at the keyboard to wake up her computer, and looks irritably over at her soaked bag, which now contains her ruined laptop, having dropped to the ground into a mud puddle.

She should feel better at The Jeffersonian. She should feel calm here, rational, but she finds she is shaking after her confrontation with her partner.

No doubt he is angry with her as well – she left his office without him, taking a cab to work. She half expects him to storm in here within the next few minutes, ordering her to stay by his side and not to act so irresponsibly.

Searching for the report she'd started on the two skeletons, she becomes immediately frustrated when unable to find it, slamming a stack of folders onto the remnants of her ruined computer.

Angela, having just entered her office, nearly jumped a foot at the loud bang.

"Bad time?' her friend asks cautiously.

She glances at Angela's face, her anger softening when she sees her friend's concern. "I'm sorry. I just can't find a file."

"I heard about what happened – Cam told me."

"Yeah, well, I'm alright."

"I highly doubt that," Angela says quietly, approaching the desk slowly. "You got shot at."

"Booth got shot at," she says flatly, continuing to dig through the piles on her desk and coming up empty handed for what she was hoping to find.

"Exactly. Your partner got shot at, when you were standing right next to him. How on earth could you be fine?"

She shrugs. "He was just grazed, Ang. He's fine. He only needed a couple of stitches."

She's about to flip over a stack of books when Angela's hand catches her wrist lightly, and she looks up in surprise.

"Bren… I love you. And you're a brilliant woman, with many talents. But lying's not one of them."

Sighing, Temperance drops into her chair. "What do you want me to say? That it was scary, that I was worried for him? I was."

Perching on the edge of her desk that wasn't swamped with files and books, Angela regards her gravely. "What happened, Brennan?"

She sighs, tangling her fingers together in her lap. "We were leaving my apartment –"

"That's not what I'm talking about," her friend says quietly. "I mean what happened between the two of you?"

She sighs, her hands coming up to massage her temples, avoiding Angela's eyes and her knowing gaze. "A lot," she says wearily.

Her friend is silent, just waiting, and Temperance lets her hands drop back into her lap. She feels slightly possessive of his words this morning, wants partly to keep them to herself, keep them like a secret. But she also wants her friend's help, needs her advice. And so she tells her.

"He said… he said that he loved me. He told me that."

The squeal she's been anticipating doesn't come. Angela doesn't jump from the desk, doesn't shout or start chanting, "I told you so's." And when Temperance finally musters up the courage to meet her eyes, she's surprised to see them shimmering and full of emotion unspoken.

It makes her own eyes well up, and she drops them immediately, plucking at her skirt, examining the stain from her spill in the mud this morning.

Angela finally speaks, her voice quiet and gentle. "Did you say anything in return?"

Temperance closes her eyes. "No," she says quietly. "I didn't say anything, exactly. But I…"

"You acted?" Angela finishes for her, understanding.

She nods, pressing her lips together. "He's… he's upset about some things, Angela. He's upset over something that happened on the job while I was in Peru – he's tired of seeing people die. And it turns out the man who tried to run me over – it's the same man who tried to have Booth shot this morning."

She glances up at her friend finally. "He says our partnership is getting dangerous."

Angela nods slowly. "He's right, in a way. I worry about you, Brennan. Ever since you started working with the FBI, you've taken bigger and bigger risks, been more and more vulnerable." She pauses. "But I think it's been good for you, too. It's opened you up – he's opened you up. In a way I haven't been able to."

She swallows, feeling tears threatening to spill behind her lids. "He can't dissolve our partnership," she says in a wavering voice. "He can't."

Her friend studies her for a moment. "Because you need him. And because you love him…?" she says finally.

She takes a full minute to consider what her friend has asked before raising her eyes to meet her questioning ones, and when she speaks, there is a catch to her voice.

"I don't think I know how to love, that I'm any good at it," she chokes out, finally admitting what she's been scared of for so long.

A tear slips down Angela's cheek, and she swipes it away, finally pulling herself off the edge of the desk and leaning towards her.

"Temperance," Angela says quietly, surprising her with the use of her first name. "You are an expert at loving – you're amazing at it; there's no limit in your ability to love."

She feels Angela's kiss press to her temple as she closes her eyes, and hears her friend's voice, whispering next to her ear.

"You just need some practice expressing it, that's all."

She only nods, because if she speaks, she knows she'll be unable to keep herself from crying, and she doesn't want to cry. Not now, not today.

Finally opening her eyes, she sees Angela leaving her office, her friend leaving her to her own thoughts and fears. Wiping at a stray tear that has managed to escape, she reaches reflexively for the chain around her neck, tugging the tags from where they lie beneath her shirt, studying them silently.

When she'd first pulled them from the box, she'd been unsure of their significance. She'd wondered if he was giving up something somehow in giving them to her, or if they were an admission of something. Or if, by being connected to the part of his life that left him with so much doubt, he was asking for some kind of acceptance from her. All she'd known at the time was that he had entrusted her with these small pieces of silver, and that they meant something to him. That he identified with them in some way.

Now, thinking in terms of anthropology, she realizes that to a soldier, especially one in war or who has been in war, these tags are his identity; that he would have no other identifying information on his body. It is how he would be identified if he was killed, even if the dog tags were not necessarily with his body.

And in giving her his identity, maybe he's giving her himself -- offering himself, despite feeling bruised and damaged.

Maybe he had wanted to see if it was a gift she would accept.

She slides the tips of her fingers over the small discs, tracing the grooves and lines of his name. She thinks of her life before she met Seeley Booth, thinks of her quiet nights at home, her relationships with men and her distance from any semblance of a family. And the memories feel quiet, easy.

And they feel lonely.

Slipping the tags back beneath her shirt, she suddenly swings her chair around, pulling up the yellow pages directory on her computer until she finds what she's looking for and picks up the phone.

**xoxoxoxoxoxoxooxooxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo**

Booth is speaking with Cam and Zach when she finally emerges from her office several hours later, and she meets his eyes briefly before heading over to her team.

"Here's the report you needed," she tells Camille, handing her the folder. "It just needs your signature and information regarding the soft tissue found on the second victim."

Camille nods. "Thank you, Dr. Brennan."

"You're welcome." Glancing up at her partner, she again meets his eyes, holding them firmly. "Are you ready to go?"

His own eyes are difficult to read, and he pauses before answering. "Why?"

"Because you're my ride," she says quietly. She adjusts her purse on her shoulder, pressing her hand to the side reassuringly to make sure the small box was inside. "And I'm ready to go home."

He nods, glancing back at Camille. "Just fax the sheets to my office, I'll get them tomorrow."

Camille agrees and Temperance steps ahead of him towards the parking garage, feeling him close behind. They are silent down the hall and through the elevator, but when she steps out into the garage, he grabs her shoulder lightly, glancing both ways first, his eyes sharp, and she remembers suddenly his body pushing her to the ground as the car had sped by them.

Apparently he's decided it's safe, and he nods once, allowing her to step towards the SUV. Buckled in, she turns to him slowly, her voice quiet. "Actually, you should take me to your place," she murmurs.

He looks at her in surprise. "Why?"

"My car is still there."

"Oh." Pulling out of the garage, he turns west, heading for his apartment, and she sighs quietly.

"I'm hungry."

Again he glances at her. "Do you want me to stop for something?"

She purses her lips, considering. "Do you have anything at your house?" she asks.

He hesitates for a moment. "Bones…"

"I want to talk to you about something," she says quietly. "Okay? Not fight; talk."

He takes a deep breath, his hands rubbing the back of his neck. In his silence, she hears only the sound of the wipers against the windshield as she studies him. He must have changed at his office – he's no longer wearing the bloodstained, mud-spattered suit he'd had on this morning, simply dressed in a t-shirt and jeans and a jacket.

"Okay," he finally says. "But we should grab a pizza or something – I don't think I have anything edible in the house."

She nods. "That place on Rose St. has them already baked and ready to go."

He heads in that direction, and when he opens the door to hop out, she sees him wince slightly, remembering that he's been shot.

"I can get it," she tries to insist.

But he's his usual stubborn self, and in less than five minutes he's back, passing the savory-smelling box to her as he climbs back behind the wheel.

**xoxoxoxooxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxooxoxoxooxxoxoxoo**

Seeley flips on the lights, gesturing her towards the couch as he takes the pizza from her, grabbing plates and, at the last minute, a bottle of wine and two glasses from the kitchen.

His heart catches a bit in his chest at the sight of her on his couch, her skirt still stained from her roll in the mud with him this morning, her hair curled from the rain. She looks feminine and vulnerable and so _real_ to him in this moment it nearly takes his breath away, and he fumbles to cover his reaction when she looks up at him suddenly, her eyes bright from across the room, like headlights flashing.

"Wine?" he asks gruffly, holding out the bottle.

She nods, taking it from him and quickly opening it while he sets plates down on the coffee table and sits next to her, leaving a couple of feet between them.

She pours him a glass and sips at her own, sitting back on the couch and ignoring her dinner, despite her earlier claims of hunger.

"Booth" she says quietly. "I don't want you to tell me you want a new partner."

He glances down at the dark red color of the wine in his glass, swirling it slightly. "I wasn't going to," he murmurs.

She's quiet for a moment. "It seemed like you might after what happened today."

He swallows, lifting his eyes and turning his head to look at her. "I was going to tell you I'm thinking of leaving the FBI."

A few blinks are her only reaction, and he lets out a long sigh. "I've been thinking about it since Epps went after Parker, Bones. And now, because I put a guy in prison and he thinks I've wrecked his life, he wants to take yours." He shakes his head slowly. "I'm not sure it's worth the risk anymore."

She closes her eyes for a moment, and he sees the weariness on her face. "Booth –"

He interrupts her, holding up a hand. "I have a kid, I have…" He looks down at his lap. "I have a partner. I have people that I love, who are a weakness when someone wants to strike where it hurts most. That's a problem. It isn't just me anymore."

She seems to consider this for a moment before putting down her wine glass, scooting closer to him. "If that's the way you feel because of Parker, I can't fight you on that, Booth," she says quietly. "He's your son, and if you feel he's at risk because of what you do, and that you need to change things to keep him safe, I'll accept that."

She pauses. "But if it's about me…" She sets her hand on his knee, and he can feel the warmth radiate from her skin through the fabric of his jeans. "I know the risks of our job, of our partnership. But I think what we do is important, and it's a risk I'm willing to take. Because our partnership is –"

"Temperance," he says quietly. "I know our partnership is important to you. I do. It's…" he pauses, swallowing thickly. "It's been important to me, in ways I'm not sure I could explain even if I tried. And I know that you care for me –"

She suddenly winds her fingers around his wrist, and he glances up at her, and her eyes blaze into his. "Booth."

He bites his lip. "This is hard for me. There are things about my job I love, things that I do that I think are important, but –"

"I don't care for you," she says quietly, and he blinks in surprise, not quite understanding what she's said. Surely she…

"What?' he finally rasps.

She reaches for her purse, tugging out a small box, and she presses it into his hand. "Take this."

Confused, he reaches slowly for the lid in the box, pulling it off, and when he sees what's in the bottom he sucks in a breath, pain shooting through his chest. His eyes falling closed, he turns his head from her, willing himself to breathe.

Dog tags sit in the bottom of the box, their silver winking in the lamplight. "I gave those to you to keep," he says quietly, his voice cracking, his chest tightening. "I wanted you to have them."

"Booth…"

"Here," he says, thrusting the box back in her direction, still avoiding her eyes with his own. He can't possibly look at her in this moment, can't possibly allow he to see how this has made him feel, how badly this has rocked him. "You don't have to wear them, Bones. But just take them, just –"

"_Booth._"

Finally he looks at her, and he blinks when he sees she's tugged tags from beneath her shirt, the chain still around her neck. Confused, he glances down in the box, and when she nods, he reaches slowly for the chain of the ones she's given him, tugging them out to hold them up in the light.

His eyes trace the familiar letters of her name engraved on the silver, and he thinks that his heart skips at least three beats, that his breath is whisked from his lungs for a full minute as he realizes what it is she's done.

He raises his eyes slowly to hers, and he sees so much in her eyes, a swirl of emotion and fear, but what he doesn't see is hesitation. He drops the tags in his palm, his breath shaky, and she sets her own fingers on the silver discs, turning them over in his hand.

"I don't 'care' for you," she says again, her voice barely above a whisper.

As she moves her fingers out of the way, he looks again at the tags and before his eyes blur completely, he sees the engraving on one of the discs:

_**I love you.**_


	17. Chapter 17

_**so... i know this isn't very long, but i'm sleepy and was distracted by a phone call from boyfriend who is currently thousands of miles away from me and cookies my roommate was baking. still, i could not leave jamie without something to read while she blow drys her hair in the morning. :) also, i forgot to mention that she was a major part in me realizing how i wanted brennan to confess her love, so please thank her... and again, thank you to all the generous people who have taken the time to review this story and send me messages. it's so appreciated. xoxo mia**_

**Chapter seventeen.**

Temperance feels a strange calm settle over her as she sees him suck in a breath as he reads the engraving. She has been trembling herself as they sat together, has been feeling the churning in her stomach for hours despite her cool exterior. But the moment he knows, everything relaxes. Everything slows down, all her senses are heightened.

It is not panic she is filled with in this moment.

And when he raises his eyes to hers, she sees them shimmering, gleaming with unshed tears. His fingers curl slowly around them, as if he's afraid they might disappear, that they are simply a mirage.

He pulls in a shuddering breath, his hand trembling as he cups her face, and he pulls her towards him. Her eyes start to fall closed as she anticipates his kiss, but instead his forehead is pressing to hers, his breath warm against her face.

"Say it," he pleads, his voice a ragged whisper. "Please, Temperance."

She tilts her head, her lips near his ear, and she pulls his hand to her chest, pressing it to her heart. "I love you."

And she knows then that he's crying, and the words, though previously foreign to her lips, tumble out again. "I love you, Seeley. I do, I love you."

His tongue is searching for hers then, reaching, and when she kisses him she feels everything that's slowed down return in real time in a rush, and her heart suddenly pounds loudly in her chest, her blood rushes in response, and her eyes fill with tears.

Yes, she loves him.

His mouth is moving like a charmed snake in her mouth, tasting her, and when he finally pulls back, he cups her chin, his eyes shining. "God, I love you," he says reverently, and from him it sounds like a promise, like an oath.

She places her hand gently on his, pulling the fingers slowly back to reveal the tags, and he dips his head slightly to allow her to place the chain around his neck. As he has done with the tags that hang between her breasts, she holds them for a moment in her own hand, closing her eyes, and she takes comfort in the silence between them, in the fact that she has lost nothing in her confession; rather, she has gained everything.

Peeking at him through her lashes, she lets out a soft sigh. "Take me to bed."

He slips a hand beneath her knees, wrapping his other around her back, and he pulls himself to his feet with her in his arms. She leans against him easily, resting her cheek against the reassuring rhythm of his heart as it pulses in his throat, and he walks slowly to his bedroom.

There are no desperate kisses or crashing into walls. She is not frantic to keep her mouth in motion, to keep her hands roaming to avoid thought. She feels love, and she does not feel the need to cling to it in fear that tomorrow she will wake to find it gone.

This is not her childhood. He is not her parents or her brother; he is not any of her past lovers. She sees this clearly in this moment, simply and without fanfare. Not everyone leaves, because he will not leave her. It's as if his eyes have been telling her a story from the day they've met, and the story ends with a beginning.

When he reaches his bed, he presses a sweet kiss to the top of her head, pausing, and then sets her gently on the covers, still messed from the last time they've been here. Unlike the first time he set her on his bed in such a way, she does not reach up for him, clinging. She sinks back amongst the sheets and pillows, watching as he tugs his t-shirt off his body, toeing of his shoes. The tags that bear her name wink at her in the lamplight from around his neck.

He presses a knee into the mattress, slipping a hand slowly, languidly up her calf and under her skirt, finding the tops of her thigh high stockings. His eyes lock with hers as he peels the silk back, turning it slowly inside out until it slips from her foot. Her lids are already at half-mast by the time he reaches her other leg, and his fingertips skim the skin of her thigh as he removes the second stocking.

She shivers, and he reaches for the zipper of her skirt, easing the zipper down and then shimmying the fabric down over her hips, tossing it to the side, and it slides off the bed to the floor.

Sitting up, she reaches for the buckle of the belt that sits low on his hips, and as she tugs it free, he catches her wrist gently, pulling her palm up to press a gentle kiss there. While she discards her shirt, he removes his jeans. Sliding his hand slowly up her arm, he reaches her hair and lifts it from her neck, exposing the skin to trail delicate kisses along the line of her throat.

A sigh escapes her, a quiet one, and she smoothes her hands down over his shoulders, reveling in the muscle and coiled strength she feels beneath his skin. She's not a tiny woman – she's tall and strong and has never felt small and light. But in his arms, she feels feminine, even delicate. He lifts her without difficulty, supports her with little effort. This morning in the shower, basking in his love, she had felt weightless as he lifted her and pressed her against the tile.

He hears her sigh, and pulls back for a moment, his eyes questioning, and she actually feels a blush redden her cheeks. "You're so beautiful," she admits quietly.

He stills at her words, clearly taken aback, and she lets her palm drift over his chest, tracing the definition of muscle and power.

"Temperance," he rasps, his voice low. "You're the one –"

She cuts him off with a kiss, her fingers moving up his back to tug him more tightly against her, and as he sinks into her kiss, she pulls him down with her into the sheets, letting him settle between her legs.

It continues this way, this slow touching and tasting, the frantic passion that had been present their first times put aside for the moment. Her bra joins her skirt and stockings on the floor, and his mouth and tongue caress her until she is crying out, fingers curling into the bedding, her hips subtly undulating beneath him. He takes his time, moving back and forth from one breast to another, his arms strong and guarding on either side of her.

Soon his fingers are between her legs, and he's pressing into her own hand and the last of their clothing is shed and her gasps and his moans fill his bedroom, a symphony of sounds.

And he pauses before entering her, looking deeply into her eyes, and his voice trembles slightly as he speaks to her. "Thank you, Temperance," he says softly.

"For what?" she whispers.

"For loving me," he chokes out. "For allowing me to love you."

She shakes her head, her eyes welling with tears. "Thank you, Seeley."

He captures her body as he captures her mouth, and she thinks at that moment of the day she had looked up the meaning of his name in one of her books and had stared down at the words for a moment, taking them in, for his name had meant _blessed_.

But as he moves within her, holding her close and murmuring words of love, she sees that it is she who is blessed by Seeley Booth.


	18. Chapter 18

_**sorry i've been missing in action as far as this story's been concerned, but we writers tend to have a bit of separation anxiety as we near the end (at least i do, i don't know about the rest of y'all). plus, i'm not sure i've mentioned this, but i never plan these things out, so i don't usually know how something is ending until i reach, well... the end. which this chapter is not, btw. there's at least one more that will follow. but when i sat down to write this (which was SUPPOSED to be a oneshot) i only knew i wanted to write something dealing with booth and his job and his issues with what's he's had to face. had no plans and this little baby manifested into what will probably end up being twenty chapters. so thanks for going on my little journey with me. ;)**_

_**and on a side note, jamie and i have posted the first chapter of our first collaboration project. it's called "Scared Stiff" and we're callin' ourselves 5 Steamboats Shipping Co. (cute, right? shipping? we crack ourselves up). check it out if you get the chance. **_

**Chapter eighteen.**

There is a slight chill to the air in his bedroom when she awakens, and she turns beneath the covers to find that she is alone. Her hand reaches out instinctively to the empty space beside her, and her fingers trace the topographical map of where he's been in the outline he's left in the sheets.

She pulls herself to her feet, wrapping the sheet around her body and moving towards the door, the cotton trailing behind her. She shivers slightly as the bottoms of her bare feet meet the chill of the wooden floor, and she moves slowly in the dimness, letting her eyes adjust to the lack of light as she makes her way down the hallway.

She sees the broad, muscular silhouette of his bare back by the window. He's tugged the ottoman of an armchair and taken a seat, his hand pulling back the curtain to gaze down at the city street below.

As she moves towards him, the whisper of the sheet over the floor causes him to turn towards her, his eyes shining in the darkness, lit by the streetlight pouring in through the window.

"What are you doing up?" he murmurs.

She bites her lower lip, stopping a few feet away from him. "I woke up and you were gone."

He nods slowly, his eyes returning to the street. "Couldn't sleep."

She takes in a small breath. "Did you… have another nightmare?"

"No."

His answer surprises her, and she takes a step closer. "Oh. Then… what is it...?"

He sighs, his eyes meeting hers again. "I have a lot of things to consider."

For a moment, it is as if a tiny louse is racing across her heart. "Oh. Are you…?" She looks down, feeling a heat rise to her cheeks. "Are you sorry that we…?"

"Bones," he says quietly, reaching for her hand. "Temperance."

She feels his warm fingers wind into hers and he's tugging her towards him, pulling her into his lap, and she allows herself to just let go, to relax into the warmth of his embrace.

He cups her chin, meeting her eyes, and despite the roller-coaster ride he's taken her on in the last week, she sees sincerity in his eyes, and she feels trust spread from her heart throughout her body.

"I don't regret what happened," he says, his voice raw and low. "Do you understand?"

She gives an almost imperceptible nod, but from his expression she sees he hasn't missed it. She feels teary all of a sudden, moved by the certainty in his voice. While he claims to have decisions to make, when it comes to the two of them, he seems unwavering.

He picks her up suddenly, settling them both in the armchair a few feet back from the window and resting his head against the back. She drops her own to his shoulder, tucking her legs up onto his lap, the train of sheet covering his knees.

"What, then?' she whispers. "What do you need to consider?"

"My job," he says quietly. "Our partnership, if I decide to stay."

She tenses, waiting for him to continue, but he doesn't. He simply sits in the leather chair, his fingers lightly stroking the bare skin of her arm, and she considers his words.

While she hates the idea of him dissolving their partnership, the prospect of him leaving the FBI altogether has her far more agitated. She's never know a man like Booth – a man who believes passionately in justice, who tries always to be fair and follow the rules, but who also manages to see things in many shades of gray. He's the kind of man who _should_ be working for the FBI – of this she is certain.

She shifts in his lap slightly, tucking closer. He's so warm, his bare skin radiating heat and making her feel drowsy again. "I guess you could…work with Zach."

He groans, dropping his head back against the chair with a light thump. "No way, Bones."

She feels slightly defensive, despite the fact that she's pleased he doesn't want another partner. "Zach is an incredibly skilled and thorough –"

"He drives me nuts."

She rolls her eyes, lifting her head to look at him. 'You're intolerant. Besides, you tell me _I_ dive you nuts," she counters.

"You do," he says, his eyes softening. "All the bloody time, in fact." He brushes his lips over hers and she shivers. "But when you're driving me crazy, I can at least distract myself with how hot you are."

She blushes, shoving his chest lightly and he smiles. She thinks back to all the times she knew she was irritating him and wonders if he had been watching her with desire in his eyes, like the kind she sees now. For a moment they just gaze at one another, and she feels again that warmth of contentment.

"Booth," she says, suddenly serious. "I hate the idea of not being your partner. I love being in the field with you, of us working together to solve the cases. But if you're worried that what's happened between us will…" She trails off helplessly, unsure how to continue.

He sighs, letting his head drop back again, closing his eyes. "I doubt I'll think of you less with another partner, worry about you less," he says quietly. "I'll probably worry about you more. But if the FBI finds out we're intimately involved, they'll most likely try to terminate our partnership."

She tucks herself back into his body, pressing her face to the warm skin where his throat meets his shoulder. His scent is strong here, and she thinks she could breathe in the masculine, clean combination for the rest of her life and never grow tired of it.

"Would you really quit the FBI?" she whispers.

He doesn't answer for a moment, and she again threads his hand with hers, holding them both up in front of her to watch their fingers weave together.

"I'm tired, Bones," he says quietly. "I'm only thirty-five, and I've seen more death than I ever could have imagined. And when killers are threatening my family and I'm slipping up and costing people their lives, it makes you stop and take stock, you understand?"

She nods. "Booth…. If you aren't happy anymore, then I won't try to convince you to stay. But can I say something?"

"Do I actually have a choice in the matter?" he jokes dryly.

Despite herself, she laughs. "No."

"Didn't think so."

Sobering, she presses her hand to his bare chest, her fingers finding the tags around his neck that hold her name. "I have never known someone so committed to justice, committed to fairness, and despite that, you seem to understand that true justice, true fairness might not be possible. And yet you keep trying, even with everything you've learned over the years."

He shifts beneath her, his arm coming around her waist as he listens to her speak.

"And one of the things I –" She hesitates, unaccustomed to the word. "One of the things I love about you is how much you _care_. A man died, and it was an accident, and most people would try to talk about the balance of the situation, of the number of lives saved despite that loss. But you didn't – it affected you, it pained you and haunted you and _shook you_, and as much as I hate to see you hurting, it speaks to the kind of man you are. Every life matters to you, every life has impact. And again, I think your time as a ranger has helped shape who you are. I think sometimes you simply see yourself as someone who's taken lives, as someone who's killed other people. But what I see is someone who holds life in the highest of regards, who celebrates and treasures life and risks his own trying to protect it."

She pauses. "You know, human beings are the only creatures who will ignore fear and allow themselves to walk into a situation that they feel might be dangerous -- and they do it for one of two reasons."

He's quiet, waiting.

"The first, which is the most common, is because of social constructs. Women are afraid of being seen as something other than nice, men are afraid of feeling foolish. It's what allows someone to walk into a situation after having what you would describe as a 'gut feeling.'"

"And the other?"

"The other is when someone is brave, and is willing to put themselves at risk for the sake of others," she says firmly. "And that's rare, Booth. It's something most people aren't willing to do, a sacrifice they aren't willing to make. I've seen you do this again and again, not just for me but for total strangers, strangers you know nothing about and have done nothing for you."

He doesn't speak but his fingers curl into the sheet wrapped around her body, and his chest rises and falls more quickly with her words.

"And," she says, drawing in a long breath, "in the grand scheme of things, every mistake you've ever made doesn't even come close to outweighing the good you do every day, Seeley. And I would hate that this bastard or Howard Epps somehow won in this, if they were able to take you away from everyone who needs you by shaking your confidence in what you're able to do."

She lifts her head, and finds that she can see the shimmer in his eyes from the glow of the street lamps through the window. "Bones," he says quietly. "If I left, someone else could take my place, could do the same thing. You're the smart one in this partnership, the one who usually uncovers the truth."

She shakes her head, amazed at how wrong he can be. "You might not believe this, but I knew you were smart the moment I met you," she admits. " I tried to hide it, but I knew you had knowledge I didn't have, and I wanted to try to establish equal footing with you in the only way I knew how."

He swallows, seemingly considering what she's said. "And now?"

She meets his eyes, wanting to be sure he sees how serious she is. "Now? Now I think you are more profound than simply smart," she says quietly. "That you might have more to teach me than I could ever teach you. And you've – you've opened me up to the possibilities of seeing what motivates others, what drives others. You're brilliant, Booth -- as brilliant as anyone else on our team. And no one can take your place, no matter what you might be trying to tell yourself. Understand?"

He sighs, not answering her verbally, but his eyes show that he's moved by what she has said. She presses a kiss to his jaw and once gain returns her head to his shoulder, wrapping her arms around his waist, pulling her knees closer to his chest.

"You know, it's amazing," she whispers after a few moments.

"What is?" he asks quietly.

"People," she says simply. "I mean, from a scientific perspective, human beings are an awesome phenomenon. We're an incredibly complex collaboration of chemical, mechanical and biological processes. We're the most highly evolved species on the planet, and what we can accomplish is fairly astounding."

"Yes," he agrees.

"And…" She pauses, pulling her lower lip between her teeth. "I'm an anthropologist," she says quietly. "It's my job to study social and cultural behaviors and patterns and analyze and label what it is we do and why."

"But…?" he asks after she's silent for a moment.

"But I didn't really… _understand_ people," she says slowly. "I had reasoning, I had probable cause, but I didn't want to connect, because a connection means you have to include yourself in those observations, and examine your own self -- to participate. I never really wanted to do that. It's easier on the outside, safer."

His fingers curl in to her hair, the tips gently massaging her scalp. "And?"

"And now I'm thinking it might be worth it," she whispers.

He cups the back of her head with his hand, drawing her face up to kiss her gently, and his tongue sweeps along her lower lip as his nose nuzzles with her own.

"Don't quit the FBI," she whispers against his mouth. "People need you – I need you. You taught me how to deal with people, to feel what they feel, to –"

"Bones," he murmurs, smiling. "I didn't 'teach' you how to feel any thing. I knew from our first case how deeply you empathize with others – that first case. And you've challenged me as much as I've challenged you. My gut isn't always right – sometimes you just have to read the evidence for what you missed. It's what's made us such a great team."

She returns his smile. "Yes." She gets an idea suddenly, grinning more broadly. "I think I know what you need."

He smiles wickedly. "Oh, yeah?"

She laughs at the sparkle in his eyes. "Not that."

"I don't know about that," he says, his voice low and husky, and she find she's still surprised by how deeply and intensely her body reacts to his voice alone. How on earth had they been able to hold back this long?

"I'll show you what I'm talking about tomorrow," she murmurs.

His eyes sparkle in the darkness. "Yeah? Mind if I show you what I'm talking about now?"

She feels her stomach flip flop at his tone and the look in his eyes, and she sits up, tugging the sheet free from where it's wrapped and tucked around her breasts. "That's not something you ever have to ask," she promises.

He tugs the sheet free from them and then he's hauling her into his arms and striding towards the bedroom and she lets her head drop back over his arm, her hair like a curtain falling behind her, and she closes her eyes, a smile sweeping across her face.


	19. Chapter 19

_**A/N: okay, so this is almost the end folks -- one last chapter after this one, and we're done. i just want to thank everyone again for going on this wonderful ride with me. i've really enjoyed writing for this pairing, and you guys are an awesome fan base, truly. i'm sorry i haven't been able to respond to everyone individually who's reviewed, but everyone who has taken the time to tell me how this story has affected you -- thank you. it means so much to get feedback and know that people are responding to your ideas. i hope you like this chapter. xoxo mia**_

**Chapter Nineteen.**

His body rolling slowly towards the warmth of new light streaming from the windows, Seeley opens his eyes, blinking in the brilliance of morning. His body still climbing from the depths of unconsciousness, he stretches slowly, bringing his arms up over his head, pointing his toes.

He is alone in bed, and he smells coffee in the air. Before he can pull the sheets back, he looks up to see Temperance framed by the doorway, two mugs in her hands with steam escaping. She's dressed in one of his button-down shirts, and it reaches mid-thigh. Her hair is a tangle, her face scrubbed fresh and clean.

Smiling, he pulls himself to a sitting position as she knee-walks across the mattress to him, handing him a cup. He accepts it gratefully, reaching out with his other hand to push a lock of hair off her forehead, tucking it behind her ear.

"Hey, beautiful."

For some reason, she blushes at his words, which only makes his smile stretch more broadly across his face.

"Morning," she murmurs, blowing gently on the surface of her coffee. "Did you… sleep well?" she asks cautiously.

"Like a baby," he promises gently. "You?"

"I slept very well," she says simply. "I –" Again, she blushes. "You're very nice to sleep next to."

Amused, he takes a sip. "Oh?"

She lifts her eyes to his. "Now you're just trying to tease me."

Nodding, he stretches towards where she sits on her knees, pressing a gentle kiss to her temple. "So, Dr. Brennan…. it's Saturday. What exactly is it you have planned for me?"

"I just have a place I think you should go," she says quietly.

"Oh?"

She nods. "I thought we could go first and then maybe grab some breakfast?"

"Whatever you want," he murmurs, his fingers gently pulling through the tangles and knots in her hair.

She simply smiles, taking another sip of coffee, but when he sets his own mug on the nightstand and reaches for hers, she lets out a whine in protest.

"Booth –"

Successfully commandeering her coffee, he leans towards her slowly, wanting a proper good morning kiss, but when he gets close, she pulls back slightly, wrinkling her nose.

"What?" he whispers.

"You have morning breath."

Laughing, he grabs her, pinning her to the mattress, his lips falling instead to her neck, her warm legs tangling with his own. "Do I? Guess I'll have to kiss you elsewhere."

She's pushing at his shoulders, laughing herself, but when he pulls her earlobe into his mouth she gasps. He works quickly on the buttons of his shirt that she's wearing, slipping his hands inside to bare skin.

"Mmmmm…" he murmurs against her breast. "How about... here?"

She shifts her hips against him. "That could work," she manages, her voice straining.

He sucks her nipples gently, pulling another moan from her before moving lowed, his tongue trailing to flicker in her bellybutton. "Or here?"

"Or there --" she gasps.

"How about…" he whispers, nipping at her hip and then settling between her legs. "…Here?"

"_Oh,_" she breathes. "Seeley?"

He smiles up at her, noticing the blush that has spread over her skin. "Yes, baby?"

She looks at him seriously, and he tilts his head. "You don't like that, do you?"

"What?"

"Baby."

A smile teases at the corners of her mouth. "Hmmm…."

"What?"

She props herself up on her elbows, and he leans up towards her. "What is it?' he repeats, unable to fight back his smiles this morning.

"I shouldn't like it," she says quietly.

"Shouldn't?"

"Well, traditionally I haven't really liked it," she murmurs. "It's a silly word that infantilizes women in order to take their perceived power away."

He chuckles. "But…?"

Her eyes sparkle. "But when you say it, I kind of like it," she admits, and she presses her knees against his shoulders, cradling him. "Don't tell."

He feels inordinately pleased by her words somehow, and he grins again, broadly. "Your secret's safe with me." He pauses. "What were you going to say?"

Her eyes soften further, and she bites her lower lip. "Oh."

"What?"

She sits up all the way suddenly, cupping his face in her hands, and she presses a soft kiss to his cheek, her lips next to his ear.

_"I love you."_

**xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxxoxxooxoxoxoxxoxoxooxoxo**

Sitting comfortably in the passenger seat, her finds himself oddly at ease with his partner behind the wheel. He hadn't fought her when she'd wanted to take her car, since he knew she was taking him somewhere still unknown, and he watches the city fly by as she sails easily down the street.

A bouquet of flowers sits on his lap, which she'd slid into a market to purchase earlier, and he has no idea where it is they're going – and he hasn't asked. He's content to sit in comfortable silence, occasionally turning to watch her frown at the rearview mirror or to brush her hair out of her eyes. He has no doubt that their playful banter and competitive natures will resurface, and he loves that about them. But for now, he's enjoying the silence.

But he frowns when she turns onto Capitol Street, and he realizes she's heading towards Prospect Hill Cemetery. "What are we doing here?" he asks quietly.

She pulls into the entrance, the car gliding easily on the pavement, and she pulls over after several moments, parking to the side.

Unbuckling her seatbelt, she turns to him calmly, but he keeps his gaze fixed on the grave straight ahead, his stomach turning. "Bones…"

"Seeley," she murmurs, her hand coming out to settle on top of his. "I've given this considerable thought. And it isn't necessarily something I would do, but it's something I think will help you. And…" She pauses. "And it did help me, when you brought me to my mother's grave. I thought it silly at first, but you were right. I wasn't talking to her, I don't believe that's possible, but I was talking through what I _would _say, if given the opportunity. And I think that means something."

He pulls his lower lip between his teeth, blinking back tears – he will not cry. Not now.

"I think you should do this," she whispers. "I think it will give you some peace, help you move on."

His shoulders slump in defeat, and he swallows thickly, finally turning to her, his eyes welling. "What could I possibly say?" he chokes out.

She hesitates. "That you're sorry."

He glances back towards the grave for a moment, struggling, and he feels her fingers curl more tightly around his hand. Closing his eyes, he nods finally. "Okay."

"Okay," she whispers. "Do you want me to come with you?"

Part of him wants her there, desperately, but another part of him realizes he needs to do this alone. Shaking his head, he leans over, kissing her cheek gently. "Just wait here."

And then he's stepping out of the car, the sun warming his face as he walks slowly towards forgiveness.

**xoxoxoxoxooxoxoxoxoooxoxoxoxooxoxoxoxoxoxooxoxox**

She watches him silently, having stepped from the car to take in the fresh, damp air. It is still chilly, and she wraps her arms tightly around herself, her scarf blowing lightly as the wind washes over her.

He's been at the gravestone for close to a half an hour, but she feels no pressure to leave or hurry him along. She's spent half her adult life in graveyards and burial grounds – they do not make her nervous. Tucking her hands in the pockets of her jacket, she takes in the sight of her partner across the way, his head bowing slightly as he speaks. He's nestled the flowers in the grass at the base of the headstone, and she sees him drop into a crouch in front of it, placing a hand on top of the marble.

There's something beautiful about his faith. Being an atheist, she's always seen organized religion as a way of herding sheep, a way of keeping the masses dependent on the idea of a higher power. Or to comfort the weak, to give them an explanation or a reason for the loss of a life or misfortune, to claim it's all some part of a larger plan.

But Seeley Booth is not weak, nor is he foolish. His faith is something he chooses, not a lie he's fed into. And she respects that, even envies it at times. He's seen the senselessness in the lives lost, seen the randomness of victims chosen.

_And maybe,_ she thinks in the chill of February air, _God is what you make it. Maybe God is simply a projection of what you'd like to see in the word, what you believe might one day be possible. And that – that is beautiful._

He's heading towards her slowly, his shoulders still broad and strong, and when he raises his head to meet her eyes, she sees faith again, and smiles, and when he reaches her, he smiles back.

_**also, i did one last video, if you've been following those. it's on my profile page if you want to check it out. :) xoxo**_


	20. Chapter 20

_**A/N: (raises head and sniffles...) **_

_**well, here it is, my lovely fanfic friends. the last chapter. i wasn't going to update tonight, but i stayed in because i'm throwing an engagement party tomorrow and must get up eaaaarrrllllyy... and how could i not write? it's my favorite thing to do instead of study nowadays, apparently. i'm so bad.**_

_**i just want to thank you all again for being so welcoming to me over here and hanging on with me through this angst-filled ride of my first foray into Bones writing. it's been great fun, and have already made a friend for life, so it's been so worth it. not only that, but one of my dearest friends has overlooked my complete and total neglect of another story and followed me over here. thank you, my darling jenn. i swear i'll finish my story soon. i would never leave you hanging. :) also, thanks to laurie for always being so enthusiastic and encouraging.  
**_

_**and oodles of thanks go to jamie -- she helped me through writing this; inspiring me along the way, pointing out details i'd forgotten about or would have let slip away. i'm so glad we've gone into the shipping business. this woman motivates like no other, you guys. she supplies me with all the sexy david boreanaz pictures a girl could ever hope for, as well as friendship and smiles. :)**_

**_i hope this final chapter does this story justice. it was never meant to wrap everything up neatly or completely -- only to open a door, i suppose. some of you expressed disappointment that you did not hear what Seeley said at the gravestone in the last chapter, and i'm sorry. i never intended to write that scene -- the point, to me, was that Temperance realized it was what he needed. _**

_**anyway, thank you all. i'd really appreciate you letting me know how you feel now that this is all over -- i'll know whether or not this was successful and to continue in the future. big kisses, mia**_

**Chapter Twenty.**

His smile is catching and his eyes sparkle as she gazes at him over her stack of waffles. After days of snow and rain, the sun of the early morning continues to shine brightly through the windows of the diner, leaving patches of light on the their table. Lifting the bottle of syrup, she drizzles it in shimmering bands across her breakfast in elaborate patterns and swirls.

"Are you only going to play with your food, or are you going to eat it?" he teases, reaching for his large glass of orange juice. He has a man's breakfast in front of him – eggs and bacon and sausage, potatoes and a pile of toast. And while his food is already half-devoured, she's spent the last ten minutes dreamily spreading butter over hers.

She starts to slice it in pieces, and he forks a chunk of waffle off her plate, popping it into his mouth, causing her to scowl at him briefly. "Hey…"

"You never finish them anyway," he retorts. "I'm just trying to keep it from going to waste."

She glances at her towering plate. "They really should consider serving only two instead of four."

"Nah." He stabs another bite, and she looks at him in mock outrage.

"Eat your own breakfast," she gripes.

He chuckles, dropping back against the worn leather of the booth. "Guess the honeymoon's over already."

She frowns. "What honeymoon?"

He just shakes his head, laughter in his eyes. "It's just an expression, baby."

"Oh." Blushing slightly, she peeks up at him through her lashes. "Do you want to come to my place tonight? I'll make dinner. I think we should eat something that isn't takeout for once."

"You making macaroni and cheese?"

"I hadn't really decided on a menu, to tell you the truth. But I'm craving something a little… healthier for dinner than what we've been ingesting lately."

"You're the one who put three packs of butter on your waffles," he teases.

She sweeps a piece of waffle into a puddle of syrup, chewing happily. "Thus the need for a dinner with vegetables."

He cocks his head to the side. "Whatever you want."

Arching a brow delicately, she reaches for her coffee. "Oh? And how long is that going to last?"

The corners of his mouth twitch as he tries not to smile. "You'll just have to wait and see."

There is a comfortable silence for a moment, and then he glances up at her, swallowing as he reaches again for his juice. "I have Parker tomorrow, just so you know – through Monday night. Rebecca was taking him to visit her mother Thursday through today, so that's why I'm overlapping into the week."

At the mention of his son, she pauses. "Oh. Well, if you want to stay at your house and have a night alone before he comes I –"

He reaches across the table, snagging her hand in his. "No, no," he murmurs. "I just wanted to give you a heads up." He moistens his lower lip with his tongue, and her breath catches at the sight. _Sexy._

"He likes you – a lot," he assures her. "And I'm not going to push with him, alright? You can choose to spend as little or as much time with him at first, if you want. But you don't have to worry. He takes after his dad."

She taps the end of her spoon against the rim of her coffee cup, his words sinking into her, swirling around inside. "What does that mean?"

He scoops up a pile of eggs with a triangle of toast. "He's already a bit of a fool for you."

She feels heat sweep through her, and she drops her eyes to her plate, hiding a smile. Out of any other man's mouth, she might be tempted to roll her eyes, but from his, she can hear the sincerity and playfulness. He's comfortable enough with her that he's not trying to woo her or impress her.

"Anyway, I was thinking of taking him to the aquarium tomorrow," he continues, sprinkling pepper on his hash browns.

"I'm sure he'd love that," she murmurs, her focus now entirely on him, her breakfast forgotten.

"Would you come?" he asks her, and she catches the hopefulness in his voice.

She hesitates. It isn't that she doesn't want to – she loves the aquarium, and she finds his little boy to be an intelligent, intuitive, loving kid – just like his father. But as always, she feels that slight tug, that fear of attachment to something or someone.

"Hey," he says quietly, bringing her back. "You don't have to decide right now. I just wanted you to know we'd love it if you came, okay?"

She nods, giving him a smile, and he grins back. When she returns her eyes to her plate, pushing her food around slowly, he pauses as well. "What's on your mind?"

She sneaks another peek at him, blushing. "You."

He sighs, setting down his fork. "I know we still have a lot to figure out, both with work and other things. But I say we just wait until this case is over. Then we can decide what we want to do, who we want to tell." He looks at her guiltily. "By the way, I have a feeling Sweets isn't going to be very happy with me. I put off our session, and I just _know_ that kid's going to pick up on something being different when we go in there on Tuesday and I just –"

She interrupts him, and he stops, his mouth half open.

"What?"

"That's not what I meant."

He frowns. "Huh?"

"When you asked what I was thinking about. I wasn't thinking about work."

"Oh." He pauses. "What were you thinking about…?"

She gives him a sly smile, and his eyes widen. "_Oh._"

He's suddenly reaching into his back pocket, tugging for his wallet, and she watches with curiosity as he swiftly pulls two twenties out, dropping them onto the table. Jumping up, he's beside her instantly, tugging her out of the booth.

"What are you _doing?_" she asks, laughing.

"You're thinking, I'm doing," he says on a breath.

"I'm not done with my breakfast!"

"I have waffle mix at my house," he says desperately. "I'll make you a mountain of them."

"Booth –'

He pauses, turning and his face is suddenly only an inch from hers, and her heart pounds as their eyes lock. "You really want your waffles, Bones? Now?"

She pulls her lower lip between her teeth, her body starting to tremble, and simply shakes her head.

He grins broadly, his fingers winding in hers as he leans to whisper into her ear. "Good. Because I'm going to have enough trouble making it through weekend traffic."

"My place is closer," she breathes. "By at least five minutes."

His pulls back, and his eyes sparkle. "God, I love that brain of yours."

**xoxoxoxoxoxooxooxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxooxoxoxxoxoxoxoxooxoxoxoxo**

Her door bursts open with a bang, and they tumble over the threshold, hands flying, mouths gasping only a breath apart. As he kicks the doors shut with his foot, she grabs the front of his jacket, stumbling into her apartment until her back hits the wall behind her.

He's already tugging her own jacket from her, dragging it down over her arms, revealing the light sweater underneath. Their breathing is loud, echoing through the quiet of her living room, and she moans lightly when he stops kissing her to lift the cashmere over her head.

Her fingers fumble with his belt, yanking hard to pull it free from the loops of his jeans. Flinging her sweater over his shoulder, he dips his head down again to kiss her, and she winds her fingers into the waist of his pants, tugging him hard so that his hips crash back against hers and she can feel the hardness of his body. Her hands again find his jacket, and she shoves it from his shoulders and then yanks his t-shirt over his head, revealing his bronze skin.

He sinks down to his knees, pressing desperate kisses down her body along the way, his hands falling to her hips and then to the button of her pants. Her head drops back against the wall with a soft thud, her eyes falling shut as his tongue sweeps across the flat of her stomach. _God, can he kiss_.

He gets the buttons undone, pulling the zipper down, but she's tugging on his hair, pulling him back up to her, wanting his mouth on hers. He doesn't disappoint her, crashing his lips on top of hers, sliding his tongue along her own. Her arms wind around his neck, loving the taste of him in her mouth, of the feel of his arms around the bare skin of her waist.

Clearly intent on getting her naked, he rips his mouth free, his palm moving up to cup her breast, his face burying against it. His other hand quickly finds the clasp behind her back, and his fingers flick effortlessly and it unhooks, and he tugs it free and down her arms. This alone seems sexy to her – his deftness with her clothing, and she again grabs a fistful of his hair, pulling a growl from low in his throat.

She yanks again on his hair a bit, and his hands fly to her hips, pushing her hard against the wall, his mouth fastening to her nipple, suckling furiously, and she lets our a hoarse cry, her whole body thrumming.

He has her pants off her hips and down her legs in moments, and she kicks them hurriedly off her feet, her hands flying to the button of his jeans as he struggles with her boots. They're moving so quickly their limbs keep tangling, their hands fumbling as they try to get inside one another's clothing faster. Before she has his zipper down, he's slipped a finger inside the edge of her underwear, and he groans, the deep sound vibrating low in his chest, only making her hotter.

"God, you're wet," he rasps. "That's so fucking hot, baby -- you have no idea."

But her hand is inside his jeans, cupping the hardness of him, and she thinks she does have some idea. Because the feel of him so hot and rock hard has her so ready for him, she isn't sure they'll make it out of the living room.

"You got me wet at breakfast," she pants, and he groans at her words.

"Oh, _what?_" he manages. "How?"

"You licked your lower lip," she gasps as he slips a finger deep inside of her. "And it was so…Oh, god…"

She squeezes him in her hand, making him growl again, and she drops her open mouth against his neck, sucking on the skin of his throat. The scent of him is all around her, the spicy, clean smell that she's inhaled over the years whenever he leans close to her, whenever he's brushed past her. Even in the beginning, it had given her pause. Now, it floods her mind with images of him naked against her at the slightest hint of it in the air.

"It's going to be impossible to work with you," he chokes out. "Every time I see you, I'm just going to want to – Oh, _god._"

As exciting as this is up against the wall, desperate for one another, she suddenly realizes how badly she wants him above her, how much she wants the heavy weight of his body on top of hers. It's something new she's finding she likes – surrendering. And so she wiggles out of his arms, leaving him with his eyes wide and his mouth half open.

"What are you…?"

Standing only in a pair of red cotton panties, she backs away from him playfully. "I want you on top of me, all around me," she taunts, backing up a few steps as he reaches for her. "I want you inside me."

His eyes darken, his lids heavy over them. "Temperance…."

"So come and get me," she teases, her eyes sparkling, spinning on her heel and suddenly racing towards her bedroom.

It amazes her, his grace and speed, because he's got his arms around her waist and is sweeping her up before she is even halfway down the hallway. Tossing her over his shoulder, he heads towards her bedroom in one fluid motion, and she lets out a gasp in surprise and then starts to laugh, the sound of it echoing down her hallway.

And then she's sailing through the air, landing softly in a nest of covers, and he's following her down, his tongue sinking into her mouth immediately as he kisses her deeply. She's tugging on the waist of his boxer briefs, and he's dragging at her own panties, yanking them down over her hips, and then they're skin to skin, and she gasps against his open mouth.

When he thrusts inside her she moans, her hands wrapping around the strong arms on either side of her. After years of being on her own, of being independent and sleeping with men along the way, she finds that being held like this, feeling safe enough to lose control and not be in charge feels incredible. She knows they have plenty of time to find what drives the other wild, to make love in different places and different ways. But for now, she finds the weight of his body above hers, the strength of his arms as he braces himself over her is incredibly sexy, exactly what she wants.

And she realizes that in the end, it's not about being equal in every single moment along the way. Sometimes he'll be the one to be strong; sometimes she'll be the one to be brave. What matters is that together, they complement the other; that the balance is there. The silver dog tags that hold her name, that hold her words hang between them, dangling from his the chain around his neck, and she wraps her fingers around them tightly for a moment, as if her touch could pour more of herself into them in some way.

She thinks for a moment, as she rolls her hips along with his demanding rhythm, of that first case, of that moment in the shooting range when they'd locked eyes, when neither had been willing to back down. And she smiles against his kiss, realizing it had been there since the very first day, the heat that surrounds them now.

Her smile soon disappears as her mouth opens, a gasp escaping as his hand slips between them, his fingers finding her clit, and she cries out his name hoarsely. He's ahead of her, she realizes, and wants desperately to bring her along with him, for them to tumble over the edge together, but she wants something else. Finding his hand between them, she tugs it back up, and as she reaches for his other one, his eyes lock with hers, understanding, and he braces his weight on his elbows.

His fingers intertwine with her own, pressing their hands into the mattress, and she arches up, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses along his throat as she lets her knees drop lower to the mattress, lets him sink more deeply within her.

"I love you," he rasps suddenly. "God, so much, I love you so much…"

Everything around her is him – his smell, his touch, the way he tastes. His body is buried deeply within her, his hands a mirror image of her own against the sheets. The room disappears, the _world_ disappears, and she feels tears well up in her eyes at the awesomeness of it all, of the sheer magnitude of what it is they can do together, what they can make. _Making love,_ she thinks. _We're making love._

"Seeley, I love you," she gasps, breathless, weightless. " I love you…"

And she sees him begin to tremble, sees the surrender in the deep and beautiful brown of his eyes, and it's all it takes, all she needs to fall with him, their hands still clasped together.

**xoxoxoxoxooxoxoxooxxxooxoxoxoxoxxooxoxoxoxo**

It is those hands of his that she reaches for amongst the tangle of sheets, pulling them up to examine them in the light still streaming through the window of her bedroom. She lifts her own, holding it against his, and his palm dwarfs her own, his fingers extend several inches past hers.

"Your hands," she murmurs. "I've never seen hands so large."

He shifts next to her, his head dropping next to hers, his voice near her ear. "Oh?"

She nods, the pads of her fingertips stroking his palm, and he shivers. "Strong," she whispers. "Like a warrior's."

He chuckles, but she hears the pleasure in his tone when he speaks. "A warrior, huh?"

"But gentle," she says. "They're my second favorite thing."

"Second favorite?"

"Mmm…" She turns in his arms, his hand still in hers, and she places them on his chest. "This is my favorite."

"My chest?" he jokes lightly.

She doesn't answer, but rises up suddenly, and presses her lips softly and slowly to where his pulse is beating beneath his ribcage. When she lifts her head, she sees the shimmer in his eyes, hears the tremor in his voice. "Temperance… it won't be easy."

"No," she says, shaking her head. "Definitely not."

"But we're strong,"

"Yes."

"We're warriors," he says with a smile.

"Yes."

His hand cups her cheek, his thumb stroking her bottom lip, and she catches his wrist, pressing a soft kiss to the tips of his fingers. "And we'll make it," he says reverently.

"Yes."

She sees the surprise on his face at her answer, sees the amazement. "How do you know?" he whispers, his eyes questioning, his voice catching.

And she smiles, feeling her heart beating strong and sure beneath her ribs, feeling her blood rush through her body with each breath as she finally answers him.

_**"I have faith."**_


End file.
